


To Love Another Person

by SkyLeaf



Category: Romeo And Juliet - All Media Types, Romeo And Juliet - Shakespeare, Romeo et Juliette - Presgurvic
Genre: Angst, Ballroom Dancing, Canon Compliant, Duelling, F/M, Fluff, Forbidden Love, Poison, Suicidal Thoughts, Suicide
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-16
Updated: 2020-07-16
Packaged: 2021-03-05 01:35:12
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 3
Words: 26,004
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25316149
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SkyLeaf/pseuds/SkyLeaf
Summary: They were walking towards the abyss, led by the beauty of the road ahead. However, as it so often was the case, neither Romeo nor Juliet would come to realise that before the ground disappeared beneath their feet, leaving them to fall, consumed by the feelings that had led them there.
Relationships: Juliet Capulet & Nurse, Juliet Capulet & Tybalt, Juliet Capulet/Romeo Montague, Lady Capulet & Juliet Capulet, Mercutio & Romeo Montague
Comments: 2
Kudos: 9





	1. Red, Blue, and Purple

**Author's Note:**

> This was written for the [rjficexchange](https://rjficexchange.tumblr.com/) on Tumblr. I decided to write something about Romeo and Juliet and then, of course, with how prominent the colour schemes of the two houses are in the musical, I knew that I wanted to write something about that. The symbolic meaning of the colours might not totally match with what I ended up writing about, but I tried to keep a theme in mind for each chapter.
> 
> Anyway, I hope that you will enjoy this :)

Juliet danced in a sea of red. Weaving between the distant cousins and those who had simply smiled at her father enough to not be deemed a threat, she could almost ignore the vibrant colour that adorned the room—barely concealed in the roses pressed against the walls outside, on display in the intricate needlework worn by the ladies around her—but then there would be a pause, a slight irregularity in the music as the crowd shifted, and she would see it again.

Blood, love. Red.

A flash, and her cousin was next to her, leading her away from the dancing crowd and closer towards the spot where her father seemed completely absorbed by his conversation with a young man. As she looked up at him, Juliet was certain that it had been meant as a favour, a way to give her a moment to herself, but it felt more like a punishment when she turned around and watched the people around her. Her mother was nowhere to be seen, but even then, Juliet knew that she would only have to follow the trail of wine to find Lady Capulet as well.

However, the next moment, Juliet would almost have wished that it was her father who was hidden away somewhere close to the wine.

The dancing flames of the candles reflected in the glass in his hand, almost making it seem like he had appointed himself to be the king of the evening. And perhaps he had. At least it felt that way as he walked over to where Tybalt was glaring at one of the boys from the city who had looked at her for a second too long, a young man, noble and with a title that was no doubt impressive, if the way he held his head high was any indication, following close behind.

Her father did not look at her when he gestured in her general direction, instead keeping his gaze fixed on the man at his side, giving him a little nod to punctuate his sentence. “Paris, this is my daughter, Juliet. I have been told that she is an excellent dancer, but, given your upbringing, I am sure that you will not struggle to follow along.”

The man—Paris—nodded, and before Juliet knew what had happened, before she had got the chance to act on the warm anger that overcame her as she realised that she was being talked about instead of to, she had been dragged back into the crowd of dancing couples. Or maybe she had been led. That was what she knew everyone else would say, that she had been invited, but as she walked alongside Paris, sending one last glance back towards her father, begging him to reconsider or to at least insist that all this could wait a little longer, it felt like she was walking towards her death.

Swaying back and forth, Juliet tried her best to look anywhere but up at Paris’ face, to focus on anything but his presence. The music was lively, flowing through the room, but for once, she could not hear it above the constant feeling of dread that had settled in the pit of her stomach the moment she had first seen him. The dance, as comforting as it had been when her nurse had first showed her how to make the steps less like the rehearsed duty of a child who had been forced to rehearse for hours, was slow, easy, and she knew what it meant; that they were not dancing at all, rather using it as a way to conceal their conversation. Had it been anyone but Paris, anyone but the person her father had whispered to about her, Juliet might have been grateful for how the dance did not require much coordination from her, thought of the chaos that would have followed if she had attempted anything more complicated in her intricate layers of fabrics and embroidery, but now, she would rather have risked that. This was not a dance; it was her father’s way of giving this man a chance to talk with her. Juliet knew all too well what would come of that, what they wanted it to lead to.

Moments later, she was proven correct as Paris, looking away for a fraction of a second, used a decrease in the tempo to spin her around, clearly having had the comment ready for the moment he brought her back in. “I see that your father did not lie when he told me about you.”

“Oh,” Juliet said. Already, she could tell what would come next, but as a stolen glance in the direction of her father revealed what she already knew to be true, that he was watching the two of them, she forced herself to continue, “how is that?”

Her partner never got the chance to answer, for the next second, Tybalt was there, the anger on his face almost seeming like it bled into the red that surrounded him. But, as much as Juliet could see why his fury should have scared anyone, she took a step towards him, bringing her away from Paris. The reaction was minuscule, barely something that anyone other than her would have noticed, Tybalt simply pushing his right shoulder forwards enough to let her stay behind him as he threw an arm around Paris and, with a grip around his shoulder that was surely quite a bit more painful than what Tybalt’s polite smile revealed, led him away from her, towards the crowd that had gathered around the tables in the corner of the room. She did not look towards her father, but if she had, Juliet was sure she would find that his expression, whether that would have been one of anger or acceptance, would have been directed towards her cousin rather than herself.

So she made her escape.

Willing herself not to trip in the skirts, Juliet began to move through the room, towards the back where the open door revealed the gardens, her personal sliver of freedom. The sun had yet to set, but with how close it was coming to the horizon, she knew that she would only have a few minutes left to enjoy the clear sky before the setting sun would ruin the view.

Moving in between a couple in front of her, Juliet ignored the protests that came from them, keeping her attention fixed on the fresh air that hit her face as she took another step forwards. Inside, in the middle of the ball and with Tybalt at her side to try his best to let them move through the night without anyone coming close, she had been able to ignore most of the discomfort of her dress, but now, Juliet felt how it forced the air out of her lungs. She only needed a few minutes to herself, a chance to look at the sky, then she would be ready to go back and apologise to both Paris and her father.

However, she never got that far, for the next moment, someone grabbed her wrist, the tight grasp bringing a sudden end to all plans of escape.

Already before she turned around, Juliet knew whom she would find there, who would be looking down at her, but that did not make it any less disheartening to look up at Paris, to see how he looked towards the open door and shook his head.

“Perhaps we should ask your father to have someone close them—I am sure he does not want for any of his guests to become sick because of the cold air.”

There was a pause as he no doubt waited for her to reward the comment with a laugh, perhaps even a nod of her own, but Juliet found that she could not bring herself to do any of that. Instead, she took another step backwards, barely thinking to make sure not to trip in her gown. In the end, it would appear that there had never been any need to worry about that, and that, really, she should have worried about something else entirely, for the next second, her flight from Paris was stopped by the presence of someone behind her.

Still, already before any sign of surprise got the chance to reveal itself and ruin the opportunity, Juliet made her decision. Whirling around, she did her best to pretend not to have heard Paris, instead taking another step towards the boy who had been unfortunate enough to be in her way and grabbed his hands.

“I never gave you the dance I owed you,” she laughed, looking into his eyes and hoping that he would understand how she needed him to not reveal the lie.

Thankfully, even as the confusion did bring his brows closer together for a moment, the smile he sent her was almost enough to let her forget about how she should have been outside that very moment. As he accepted the unconventional invitation, only casting a glance over her shoulder before taking a step towards her, he let the smile falter for a moment, feigning sadness. “I had almost assumed that you had changed you mind.”

And with that, Juliet found herself heading back into the crowd of dancing people once more. Only now, rather than focusing on the dance to ignore the way the only place in the room that was not covered in red was the ceiling, she could look down at the clothes of her dance partner. The blue fabric looked almost like it had been left out in the sun for ages, nothing like the vibrant red her mother insisted on wearing, but somehow, although she could tell that the clothing was not what someone who had truly planned to attend a ball in one of the most influential houses in Verona would wear, Juliet could not tear her gaze away from it. She could see the sky in the drapes of fabric. The sea was calling for her as they turned around, the person in front of her sending a short glance in the direction of the two guests he had been talking two when she had first torn him away from his safe corner.

Around them, the music continued, but as she danced, Juliet knew that it was nothing but her body that made her move. How could it be anything but that when she was flying through the air outside, soaring through the skies as she revelled in her freedom?

“I…” she had not meant to say anything, and, really, it was not until her partner raised a brow, tilting his head to the side in a silent question, that she realised how she had indeed been the one to utter the word, bringing an end to the comfortable silence between them.

As the music slowed, the two of them manoeuvring around the couples around them, he looked over at her, a smile tucking at the corners of his lips. “Yes?”

“This colour…” Juliet nodded towards his coat, unsure of what she had actually meant to say, “it is not something you often see at these balls.”

“Uh.” his eyes betrayed him, showing his fear as he looked back towards the spot where they had left his companions.

Of course. She should have known that much, should have expected for that to be the case. This was how it would always be, it seemed, someone sneaking into the balls, tempted by both the offers of food and the reward they might hope to earn by giving Lord Montague any information they could get.

Maybe the feeling that rose up in her chest had been caused by her father sending her directly into the arms of Paris, or perhaps it was all simply the result of not being willing to give up the brilliant colour just yet. Fact was that, as the guest opened his mouth, no doubt to make an excuse to leave her for a moment, a moment he would then use to escape, Juliet did the same, speaking before he got the chance. “It is nice to see a little variation in the fashion around here.” Turning again, this time not bothering to take more than half a step backwards, she sent him a smile. “Besides, it suits you perfectly.”

The relief on his face was evident. If his reaction to her hidden accusation had not been telling enough, this would have been enough to dispel all doubts, a fact he did not seem aware of as he mirrored her expression. “Thank you. However, I believe that it would not be right to let you compliment the colour of my clothing as long as I am standing in front of a goddess given the form of a mortal.”

She should have left, and if she was honest, Juliet was not certain why she did not do that the moment he had answered her. There it was, the compliments and the awkward attempts at avoiding the end of the conversation. But there was something that kept her from letting him know that the dance had ended a long time ago, that her father would want to speak with her. Maybe it was intrigue and the need to know why he had decided to come to their ball. Even as Juliet tried to convince herself that that was the case, she could feel how it was wrong. There was no mystery to the question of why someone with a hastily assembled costume would want the money and favour he could find by revealing what secrets her father may have to the Montague family. But the way he looked away from her the moment the words had left his mouth, however, she could certainly find a mystery in that.

And so, Juliet let her disgust shine through, for a moment not bothering to remain the perfect daughter as she gestured towards the room around them. “This hideous colour? I find that it is far too garish to look at for long periods of time.”

To his credit, Juliet could not find even the slightest trace of pretence as her partner shot her a confused look. “Surely, you do not mean that.” he said, sounding halfway like he was trying to convince himself that she had only attempted to earn another compliment.

Juliet could not tell why, but in that moment, it all seemed impossibly important that she would be able to assure him that that was not the case, that she meant every word she had said and would say that night. So, moving so that they would not alert the world around them to the fact that there was little dance left in their conversation, she nodded, keeping her expression solemn. “Oh, but I do. This,” she let her gaze stray from his face for a moment to instead nod at the red fabrics around them, “it feels like a cage, something that keeps me trapped here.”

He did not respond immediately, and for that, Juliet was grateful. She was not sure she would have been able to continue on if he had simply told her that she should be glad, that she was beautiful, young, with her entire life lying in front of her, ready for her to wait for her father to find someone who would inevitably try to claim it for themselves.

When he finally did answer her, his tone had changed, becoming far heavier, less like the light-hearted chatter Juliet had at first planned to use to buy herself enough time to escape her father’s plans. “I see. But then what colour would you have preferred to see instead?”

Had she looked out at the little part of the sky that was visible from within the house, Juliet was sure she would have seen how the bleeding sun had ruined the perfectly blue background, so she did not look away from her partner’s costume, though her gaze now came to rest on the mask, a thin disguise that barely hid more than his eyes and nose, held in place by strings, rather than the coat. “Blue,” she answered, “If I had been given the freedom to choose, I would have been surrounded by blue every second of my life.”

“Blue?” the amusement was barely hidden in his voice, but he continued on almost like he was unaware of the fact that, had she wanted to, Juliet could easily have told her father about the Montague spy who had made his way into their home. “May I ask why?”

It had not been her intention to laugh, and yet, Juliet found the sound ripped from her throat. “Isn’t it obvious? If I was surrounded by blue, then I could pretend to be a bird flying through the air or perhaps a sailor braving the seas.” Juliet barely managed to bite her tongue before the last part of the truth got the chance to slip out along with the lighter, less dangerous reasons, the fact that, even if it was the colour that decorated their enemies coat of arms—or maybe it was exactly because of that—it was the colour that seemed to be the most distant from the red around her. It was the colour that would bring her far away from her father and the hushed conversations about her she would overhear in the evenings.

She could not help but wonder if her companion was perhaps thinking the same thing as he sent her a little smile, if he was perhaps picturing how he would tell Lord Montague about every part of their conversation in only a little hour, gaining favour and prestige for himself.

However, the thought died the moment he opened his mouth.

“But the sea… even if you do not cross the path of a siren, death will still wait for you in the water, and a fall from the sky will be enough to send you directly to her.”

“Perhaps.” Juliet shrugged. “But if that is how it is meant to be, then I find no reason to complain as long as I am given the moments before that to enjoy my freedom.”

For a moment, she was certain that this was it, that now, her guest would turn away from her and gather his friends, tell them about how the daughter of Lord Capulet had told them more than they could ever have hoped to learn on their own.

But then, rather than pulling away from her, leaving her there alone and with no one to hold onto when either her father and Paris would inevitably return, he reached up to remove his mask.

Deep down, Juliet knew that there was something undoubtedly familiar about him, in the way his eyes sparkled when he smiled at her and pressed the mask into her hand, but she pushed it away. Instead, she held onto the mask, determined not to lose it as she pulled him closer and let the dance pull them back in again.

She was dancing in a sea of red, but for now, Juliet could pretend.

+++

When Romeo had first looked up at the wall in front of him, the task at hand had almost seemed daunting enough to make him reconsider, to force him to turn around and leave as quickly as he could. But before he had got the chance to do more than envision how he would disappear into the night, he had pushed the fear back and gripped onto one of the little edges of the protruding stones that ruined the smooth surface of the wall. Even though he could already hear how his friends would have laughed at him if they had seen him—and given how he came close to losing his footing more than once, dangling for a second, before he was able to calm down and continue, he knew that he would not have been able to insist that there was nothing to laugh at—in the end, Romeo made it to the top of the wall.

For a moment, he could only sit there and silently take in the sheer scope of the world around him. It was not the first time he had stood under the sky and leant back to take in the canvas the sky painted above him, a never-ending ocean of the deepest blue colour with only the scattered stars to send him a little light, but after he had seen the ball, after he had looked around at the people laughing at him and wondered how many of them would have been willing to kill him if they had known who he was, he felt even smaller underneath its infinite reach. After he had met her, or rather, after she had pulled him away from where he had been trying to convince Mercutio not to risk letting their disguises slip by angering Tybalt, everything around him had felt a little smaller, a little colder, a little more insignificant in the grand scheme of things.

But now, as he looked towards the balcony that overlooked the garden he had sneaked into, and saw how the flickering light coming from the doorway seemed almost like it had been meant to give him the courage to let himself fall from the top of the wall and into the garden below, the cold was, even for just a moment, forced to give way to an unfamiliar warmth in his chest. Not even the feeling of his body hitting the ground, a sharp twinge of pain shooting up through his leg, was enough to ruin that, and as Romeo pushed himself to his feet again, he already knew how the smile he could not fight did not reflect even a fraction of the pain as he ran towards the house, standing with his back pressed against the wall as he slowly edged his way towards the balcony. Perhaps he should have been afraid of being caught, have feared the possibility of one of the inhabitants of the house leaning out of the window and seeing him there, but as he finally reached the balcony, standing right below it, he found that he was not able to focus on anything but the fact that, for the first time in years, he really felt alive, felt like he could breathe freely.

And then she was there. He had not dared to hope for that much; it had seemed almost careless of him to permit himself the hope of seeing her again, especially after the way she had reached out for him when Mercutio had grabbed his hand and dragged him and Benvolio out of the door moments before Tybalt would have reached them.

Truly, it was too much to hope for that, far more than what he deserved. Perhaps that was why he only heard her voice and the sound of someone walking to stand at the edge of the balcony, casting a shadow onto the ground below. However, even if he could only hear her voice, when it was Juliet, that was more than enough. Anything would have been. Even if he could only have watched from afar for the rest of his life, if that was what fate had willed, he would have been content.

But, for once, fate had listened to his prayers and brought him there. It was for that reason, the knowledge that something had allowed the two of them to meet despite the feud, that Romeo found himself stepping forwards, closer towards the point where he knew that Juliet would see him as well, where their shadows would meet each other in a warm embrace.

Once, when he had been little more than a child, Mercutio had dared him to jump into the river. When he closed his eyes, Romeo could still recall the way his stomach had tightened as he looked into the blue depths and for the first time in his short life found himself face to face with death and the realisation that it would take so little to end it all. Of course, it had been in that moment that Mercutio had decided that he had not been quick enough to accept his challenge and made the decision for him, a quick shove sending Romeo headfirst into the water. There, as the water had closed around him, the instinctive need to breathe making him do just that only to find himself fighting to cough up the water again, he had at first been gripped by the instinctive fear of death, the ancient will to live seizing control. But as he stumbled, trying his best to push himself back to the surface, the fear had eventually subsided, instead allowing a calm sense of acceptance to fill him. In the end, Mercutio had dived in after him and dragged him back up, already yelling at him for scaring him, the guilt and fear not allowing him to make the words sound sincere, by the time he got his head above water, but it had taken weeks before the feeling of being trapped under water had really left him. If it even had at all, for as Romeo took the last step that separated him from the light shining down from above, the sense of something weighing him down, pressing down on his chest, was stronger than ever before.

A soft gasp. That was all that let him know that she had seen him. It was not until he noted the calm reaction that he even pondered the question of just what would have happened if his presence had been a shock to her, if she had turned around and called for help. But as it was, he was safe there, unseen by her family.

“You—” he did not look up, and yet, Romeo could easily picture the way she was looking down at him, how she would have moved to hold onto the balustrade as she leant over the edge of the balcony to look at him, the shadow the light coming from inside the house created for her moving as the perfect partner in a dance, “you are really here?”

At that, Romeo could not keep himself from looking up at her anymore, and so, that was exactly what he did. He regretted it the next moment. If only he had told her that it had all been a mistake, tried to make up some lie about why he was there, in the garden of his enemies, waiting beneath her balcony, maybe he would have been able to leave and convince himself that he could survive the constant feeling of drowning, of disappearing beneath the vast sky. But as he looked up and saw her, taking in everything from the way she rested the hand that held a rose she must have picked from the vines and roses crawling up the wall next to her balcony lightly against the balustrade to how the light of the candles from within her room cast a gentle glow upon her that, along with her bright hair, made it almost seem like she was aflame, Romeo felt all hopes of going back to the empty sense of being disappear like water evaporating in the sun.

“I am,” he whispered back, finally daring a little smile, “forgive me; I know that I have no right to say or do any of this, but I simply had to see you.”

For a moment, Romeo could have sworn that the world around him came to a sudden standstill, leaving him with nothing but the sound of his heart beating away in his chest and the fear that she would send him away, the sudden loss making him even more determined to let the moment last a little longer even if it would only make the sky above them grow a little colder, a little more distant when it would come to an end.

Then Juliet smiled, and he could breathe again. It was not a bright smile, everything about it, from the way she pushed herself up to look over her shoulder to how her brows were drawn together as she looked back down to meet his gaze once more, showing the fear that should by all means also fill his stomach in that very moment, but it was a smile. That was all he needed.

“Neither could I.” the confession seemed to hang in the air between them for a moment as Juliet looked down at the rose in her hand, opening her mouth and closing it again multiple times before continuing. “When you called me a goddess, I have to believe that you were really thinking about yourself, or at least that is the only reason I can find for any of this; that you had to wear the mask to not let people know the truth about who you were.”

He wanted to respond, wanted to return the brilliant smile that appeared to only be a moment away from becoming a laugh, but before he got the chance to do anything more than to beam up at her, the sound of voices came through the opened doors behind her.

The change was instantaneous. As Juliet’s face fell, the smile becoming little more than a faint pull at the corners of her mouth, even that disappearing as she turned around, Romeo could tell how the sky opened a little above him, the midnight blue coming to fill his entire world as he held his breath, not daring to make even the faintest sound if that was what would make the person decide to step onto the balcony and look down, finding the son of the enemies of the Capulet house standing there.

From his spot underneath the balcony, Romeo could hear how Juliet ran back into her room, the murmurs letting him know that Juliet was talking with someone, but not what she was saying, whether or not he could dare to nourish the hope that she would come back to him again. In that moment, he cursed fate. Not for letting the two of them meet, of course not, but rather for having made it so that the feud would stand between them no matter what they did. Had he been anyone but Romeo Montague, had she been anyone but Juliet Capulet, perhaps he would have been able to dance with her without the mask and the lie that had allowed Mercutio to drag him and Benvolio into the Capulet house. Yes, had it not been for his name, he would not have to stand here, careful not to make a sound that might be enough to alert anyone and make them discover his presence. Montague, that was the problem, the name that was engraved on their coat of arms, and it was exactly what he would give up in a heartbeat if only she would step back out onto the balcony.

His prayers must have been heard by the same distant goddess he had thought he could see in Juliet’s smile, for the next thing he knew, Romeo looked up at Juliet once more.

Leaning out over the balustrade, her hair falling in front of her shoulders, making it seem almost like they were still dancing among the guests dressed in red, Juliet gestured towards him. “You cannot stay here. My family—you saw Tybalt—if they find you, they will kill you.”

He should listen to her. Benvolio would have told him that, waiting for less than a second before he would simply have dragged him away from the Capulet house himself. Even Mercutio would have agreed that this was more than just their regular adventures and carelessness. But even as he heard his friends urge him to turn around, to leave, Romeo found himself leaning back just enough to make sure that she could see his eyes as he answered her. “Is that what you wish for? For me to leave?”

“No! Of course it is not what I want, but my family…” Juliet let the sentence trail off, leaving it to inhabit the space between them.

Romeo waved it aside, almost surprised by the absence of the fear that should have filled him a long time ago. “As long as I know that you love me, I have nothing to fear from your family. Nothing they do will ever be able bring me more pain than being apart from you. As long as you permit it, I will stay. This truth leaves me with only one question. Juliet, will you allow me to stay?”

The rose turned once, twice. Juliet cast another glance towards the doorway behind her, but even then, Romeo could tell how the cause for her hesitation would not be found in any doubts about their feelings, but rather in how all the words he had learnt from writing the poems that now seemed laughably simple and juvenile would not be enough to distract her from the fact that if he was found, no orders from the prince would be enough to keep her family from ensuring the death of the intruder. Almost without thinking, Romeo found himself opening his mouth, desperate to assure her that, even if that would happen, he would rather have it all brought to an end now than to be left to the horrible emptiness that would fill him when he looked up at the sky above them. He never got that far.

“More than anything else.” stepping forwards, Juliet extended her hand towards him.

It was futile, he could tell from the way her eyes shone in the dim lighting that they were both aware of that, but it was not enough to keep him from doing the same, reaching out for her. In that moment, even as several metres of air still separated them, Romeo could have sworn that they were closer than they had been at the ball, that the world around them twisted a little to allow them to be closer to one another than the laws of both their families and the universe would have allowed to happen.

Perhaps Juliet felt it as well, for the tears disappeared in an instant, instead replaced by a laugh as she shook her head. “If I could wish for one thing, it would be that you were able to be here, next to me in this moment.”

That was all he needed to know, and a heartbeat later, he was next to the wall, gripping onto the vines and pulling himself off the ground. From somewhere above him, he could hear Juliet run to the side of the balcony that was closest to him, urging him to hold onto the vines, but in that moment, the only thing that existed in the world was Juliet and everything that separated the two of them. The roses almost seemed to lead the way for him, the trail of red soon being replaced by Juliet reaching out for him, holding onto his hand as he reached up over the balustrade, gripping onto him so tightly that even if he were to slip and let go of the vines, he was certain that he would never come to meet the ground beneath him. And so, rather than focusing on the task of climbing from the vines over onto the balcony, he focused on her until she became all he could see, with the flames behind her bathing her in light and making her bring an end to the uncertainty that would otherwise have filled the firmament above them.

It could have been seconds or hours later, but at last, Romeo had something a little more solid under his feet, and as he swung first one leg over the railing and then the other, he could feel the stability spread. He was there; they were both standing right there, mere moments being all that separated them from each other. It seemed almost like the world around him might have been taken from his dreams, and had it not been for the fact that he knew he would never have been able to do her justice with his thoughts, he might have been tempted to believe that it was all it was in the end, that he would wake up in a moment to find it all gone. But it was real, Juliet really did stand there, not letting go of his hands even as he took a step away from the balustrade.

“You are here.”

Romeo was not sure whether he was the one to have spoken or if Juliet—Juliet with her smile and the way she still held onto the flower—had brought an end to the fragile silence that had come to rest between them. No matter what, he was only grateful for that, seizing the chance to answer. “I am.”

It was warm on the balcony. Romeo had not expected that. Of course, he had known that the candles inside the room would be able to heat up the air a little, but even then, he knew that this had nothing at all to do with fire. No, the warmth came from Juliet and the way she smiled up at him.

However, as strong as the feeling was, one look at Juliet was enough to let Romeo know that she was not aware of that, of. In fact, as she leant in closer towards him, he could not help but wonder whether she might feel the same for him, might look at him and wonder how she had been able to go through life without ever noting the ever-present coldness that seeped into everything around her.

Before he would have got the chance to ask, the look in Juliet’s eyes became harder, a little less bright, and as she spoke, Romeo could hear how she was not able to completely keep her voice from trembling. “Do you love me?”

The answer came immediately. How could it not, when he had spent hours agonising over how to best describe the feeling in his chest? “More than anything in my life. Juliet, I swear to you by the moon—”

She interrupted him before he got the chance to finish the sentence. No one had ever interrupted him before, but, somehow, as he looked at her, Romeo knew that it had been right to keep him from making such a flimsy promise, and so, he simply looked at her and took in the way Juliet almost seemed to command the light around her, making it take place in her eyes to look up at him with fire in her gaze as she shook her head. “No. Those are the words of someone reading aloud something he was told to say. I do not want anyone to love me in a way that can make them swear by the moon.”

“Then I swear by myself.” Already before he had said it, Romeo knew that it was the right thing to say, and with the way Juliet lit up, a wide smile spreading across her face, he could see it reflected in her as well. “I swear by my heart that I love you.”

For a moment, Juliet simply looked up at him. Maybe, in another world, he would have feared that this would be the moment where she would shake her head and ask him to leave, but now, he knew that there was no need for her to repeat the words. And yet, she did, her smile becoming brighter with every word until it felt like the night should have become day with Juliet acting as the sun, lighting up an otherwise dead world.

“I love you,” Juliet whispered, the rose still clutched tightly in her hand.

If the world had been different, a little kinder, Romeo might have descended from the balcony to walk through the main entrance and meet with her father, acting like he had only ever got the chance to talk with his daughter at the balls Lord Capulet had organised. Maybe he would then have been able to step into the warmth and look towards Juliet to see how the centre of his universe had shifted to become her, gravity changing along with it until it pulled him towards her rather than away and into a bottomless ocean that would without a doubt drown him before he even got the chance to make it to the surface.

But the world was not kind. That was one of the few things Romeo had come to know. The world was not kind, but Verona was even worse with how the feud had lasted since before anyone could remember and would surely come to outlive him. No, the world was not kind, not to him, not to anyone, but, for a moment, Romeo could force himself to forget about it, instead reaching towards the rose in Juliet’s hand.

She let go of it without a word, allowing Romeo to lift it up as he looked at her. “Then I will never have any reason to wish for anything else for the rest of my life. As long as I can be by your side, I will be happy.” Slowly, halfway expecting for her to stop him, to move her head to the side with a smile, he brushed a strand of hair aside and tucked the stem of the rose into her curls, careful not to let the thorns touch her. The brilliant red colour of the petals almost seemed to pale against her hair, but even then, it was nothing compared to her smile as she took his hands once more.

“If your feelings are true, I will send someone to you tomorrow with a message.” she hesitated for a moment, and Romeo could almost guess her exact thoughts from the way she looked to the side, towards her bedroom. Although it might feel like they had gained the right to a moment, a couple of minutes away from the rest of Verona, they did not have the luxury of completely forgetting about the circumstances. When Juliet continued, her voice shaking slightly, he knew that he had guessed correctly. “We should not—I will not let this city steal our happiness away from us.”

But it was not their choice to make. Already before he had let that realisation settle, cold fear making his chest feel tighter, Romeo knew that she was aware of that as well. If the world wanted for them to be drowned in the ocean, there was nothing for them to do other than clinging to each other and praying that it would be enough to give them a few seconds more before they would be pushed beneath the surface.

However, in that moment, Romeo could almost force himself to abandon the fear, painting a smile that felt a little less fake than he had expected for it to be onto his face as he stepped closer towards her, closing the last of the horrible, wide gap between them. “If I will have to fight for us to have this chance, then I will fight for as long as you are still with me.”

A humourless smile found its way to Juliet’s lips as she looked towards her hand. “And if I am not? If I were to disappear tomorrow, what will you do then?”

“Then I will plead for fate to take me to you.”

A second passed, and Romeo was almost certain that Juliet would share her thoughts, the worry he could see in the crease between her brows, but before she got the chance to do more than to look up at him again, her name echoed through the garden. As Juliet pushed him towards the edge of the balcony, turning around to tell the person whom Romeo was now almost sure was her nurse that she would come back inside in a moment, not even the midnight blue sky above him was enough to quell the fluttering feeling in his chest.

The shore was within reach. He was almost saved.

+++

In the fading light of the setting sun, the church had never looked as grand as it did in that moment, nor as imposing. With the imposing building towering up in front of her, Juliet found herself almost rooted to the spot, doomed to remain there to lead the same kind of life as the climbing roses outside her room, beautiful, but trapped.

But it was the climbing roses that had brought Romeo to her, the flower in her hand picked from the same spot as where she had leant out over the balustrade to kiss him goodbye, so Juliet did not give herself more than a second to take in the majestic sight of the church before she continued along her path. Behind her, she could hear her nurse, the sound of her shoes making contact with the stones below sounding impossibly loud in the otherwise deserted alleyway. Every second now, someone would hear them, opening up their window to see what was happening and recognising the Capulet’s only daughter. Juliet was not sure what she feared most, that the person in question would be loyal to her father or to Lord Montague.

With her fears urging her to move as quickly and silently as she could, she soon reached the entrance to the church, and although her heart beat a wild rhythm against her ribs, as Juliet looked back, she did not see the telling flicker of a candle having been lit to allow its owner to identify the strangers outside their house. Still, not even the fact that she had made it this far, that she had been able to leave the Capulet house, aided by her nurse’s promise to do everything in her power to help her, and walked through the streets of Verona, head held low and with her shoulders raised, was enough to dispel the nagging feeling that something would go wrong, that she was walking towards the abyss.

She should have known that her nurse would sense her hesitance, and yet, as she moved to stand next to her, taking Juliet’s hand, Juliet could not help but to lean into the embrace, for a moment overcome by the exhaustion of having spent the evening worrying about everything that might still happen, all the ways she might come to see her happiness disappear into the night.

“Are you certain that you wish to do this, Lamb? It is not too late to turn back yet.”

She meant well, Juliet knew that. She meant it in the same way she had tried to comfort her, bring her a little bit of security by wrapping the cloak around her shoulders, whispering something about how the lilac fabric would allow her to hide in the shadows of the streets with ease. Still, that was not enough to keep the indignant warmth from spreading in her chest, the knowledge that, no matter what, no matter what happened, she would not turn around and go back to a life that, while surely safer than heading into the church and seeing the people who waited for her there, would be cold, horrid, and painfully empty. She would not regret her decision. In a way, Juliet supposed she should be grateful for that, grateful for how the nurse, albeit unknowingly, had strengthened her resolve, but as she stood there, looking up at the brilliant stained-glass window that hung above the entrance to the church, all she could feel was how she had never wanted anything more than to walk in there, and that nothing, not even the concerns of those closest to her, not even her own, would be enough to keep her from reaching out and seizing the joy now that it was finally within reach for her. In her pocket, she could still feel Romeo’s mask, and that, the mental picture of the blue colour against the red dress, was what made her take the last couple of steps forwards.

It was cold inside the church. The ancient stones had not done much to retain the warmth of the sun, even though Juliet supposed that it would not have been right of her to have expected that of them with the doors haven been opened up. And yet, despite how a cold wind brushed past her, nearly bringing a few strands of hair into her eyes, he was there.

Romeo.

As he stood there, with the moonlight, the glow tinted purple by the stained-glass window, reaching down towards him, Juliet could almost not think about the danger they were in. All she could see was him, Romeo waiting for her, Romeo smiling as she ran towards him as quickly as the thin nightgown would allow her to, almost annoyed with the cape for billowing behind her, slowing her down, Romeo who reached out for her, taking her outstretched hands, pulling her towards him and helping her bridge the last bit of distance between them. Romeo, the guest who had refrained from protesting and gone along with her plan, the Montague who had been pulled out of the door by his friend with her cousin running after him, barely held back by her father as he sent an apologetic look in Paris’ direction. Romeo who had come back after all that, climbed up her balcony to allow the two of them to steal those precious moments for themselves, denying their families the opportunity to steal the bliss away from them. Romeo.

Only vaguely aware of how she should have turned towards him a long time ago, Juliet nodded towards Friar Lawrence, relieved to note the little smile that tucked at his lips. The thought that he might have decided not to accept the risk, not to bear the blame should anyone come to know about their endeavour, had crossed her mind more times than she liked to admit, but he was there. They all were.

“Oh, my dear child!”

It was the sound of her nurse, attempting to gulp down a sob and failing, that called Juliet back to reality.

Already knowing that she would not be able to prepare herself for the moment when she would meet her gaze, Juliet turned towards her and felt her heart break. She was crying. It was not the first time Juliet had seen that happen, of course not. Her nurse had cried more once, back when the wound of losing her own daughter had been fresher, and had wiped a stray tear away when she had been told about Paris, back in what felt like it was almost a previous life. But she had never cried like this for her.

“Do not waste your tears,” Juliet said, hoping that her voice did not tremble as much as it felt like it should with how all she could see in that moment was her old life slipping away, Romeo standing next to her, bathed in light, but with a patch of darkness separating them, “after all, this is a wedding; it is a joyful occasion.”

“I know that. I know I should be filled with joy, my child, but how can I be when I am losing you?”

“You are not losing me.” Juliet could tell that it was not enough. Deep down, she had known that from the moment she had first started speaking, but the way her nurse only continued to cry was sure to make what little doubt there might have been left disappear, and so, sending a smile to Romeo and feeling a weight being lifted from her chest as he returned it, nodding at her, Juliet crossed the distance between herself and her nurse in a couple of steps and threw her arms around her, for once being the one to hug the tightest. If they had not been in the church, if they had not been about to defy her father’s wishes, Juliet was sure that she would have heard her nurse comment on her sudden strength, teasingly telling her that she would have to be careful not to choke her. Even now, she could almost hear it, but it was Juliet and no one else who broke the silence. “You will never lose me, I promise you that much. No matter what happens, I will be right here.”

The laugh that escaped the nurse was not as deep and happy as Juliet was used to hearing, but at least the tears were only a hidden shadow in her voice as she leant back, placing a hand on each of Juliet’s shoulders to allow her to look down at her, blinking another tear away as she shook her head. “Look at you, Lamb. Here you are, assuring an old woman of what she should have known already. If I did not know better, I would have said that I was the child and not you.” clearly seeing the comment waiting, she smiled, some of the usual warmth coming back to the gesture. “Now, don’t you dare think that this means that you will ever stop being my daughter. You may not be according to anyone else, but you will always be my child.”

“I—” the words died in her throat, and for once, Juliet was nothing but grateful for how her nurse so often seemed to be able to read her feelings, as the sight of her smiling down at her, sending her a knowing nod, loosened the tight knot in her throat a little.

“I know, my child. I know.” taking her hand, the nurse walked alongside Juliet back over to where Romeo and Friar Lawrence were still waiting for them. As she looked back down at her, letting her gaze come to rest on their hands, Juliet could only attempt to guess what her nurse, the woman who had raised her, was thinking, for her face was kept perfectly blank as she slowly, ever so slowly, and yet so quickly that it felt like it happened in the blink of an eye, moved Juliet’s hand, bringing it to rest on top of Romeo’s instead. “And now you two will be each other’s as well.”

They would. Despite everything else, despite the pain and the way she could still hear the tears in her nurse’s voice, as Juliet looked towards Romeo, she could only feel joy at the knowledge of how, soon, nothing they could do, no words from her father or Paris, would ever be enough to come between them again. A few words, and they might finally have triumphed over the feud.

In the wonderful moonlight, Juliet could only describe the walk towards the altar as being the feeling of how love pulled them forward, whispering to them and letting them know that, no matter what might come in the morning, for now, it was only the two of them. Despite the darkness and the roof above their heads, Juliet could have sworn that she could feel the sky around her, feel how the heavens had come to the ground to surround them in that moment.

As Friar Lawrence walked in front of them, touching their heads for a moment as he began the ceremony, Romeo leant towards her, coming even closer, so close that their shoulders touched, only the cape coming between them, acting as a barrier. “I do wish that I would have been able to give you more than this. A place where we would not have had to hide or sneak out under the cover of the night like simple thieves. You deserve all of that and so much more.”

“Do not speak like that,” she shushed him, already terrified that someone or something would have heard him and decided to punish them for their ungratefulness, “You are here. That is more than what I could have wished for. It always will be.” the fear that it might still not be enough tucked at her heart, prompting her to continue. “With you, I know that we can overcome anything. As long as our love connects us, I know that nothing bad will ever be able to harm us, not truly.”

And finally, thankfully, a little of the fear and sorrow disappeared from Romeo’s eyes, allowing him to send her a gentle smile. “If that is how you feel, then I will be happy as well.”

From someplace far away, Juliet heard how Friar Lawrence thanked the heavens for their wedding, signalling to them that it had happened, that they had really been given the chance, but in that moment, as she stood up, Romeo moving along with her, he might as well have been all that existed in the world.

“Juliet?”

“Yes?” she could hear how her voice was breathless, sounding just like when Tybalt had tried to show her how he could sprint through the bushes in the gardens, only for her to attempt as well. But for once, Juliet knew that it, along with the way her heart beat wildly in her chest, the way she could hear the blood flowing through her veins in her ears, had nothing to do with fear. How could she ever have feared for anything as she stood there, the light from the stained-glass window hitting the side of Romeo’s face, painting it a soft shade of purple?

“No matter what might happen come morning, I want you to know—”

“Please, Romeo, let us not talk about the morning for this one moment.” she could hear the stubborn tone in her voice, and yet, she could not find the strength to make it disappear, could not do anything other than hoping that he would understand, would grant her the few moments where she would not have to think about what they were risking, what might still happen, how joy could be shattered so easily. “Just for now, let us live only in this second.”

As Romeo’s expression turned soft, she knew that he had understood. “Of course,” he whispered, “for now, let us stand here, together.”

Juliet could almost not tell when the moment he finally leant down to kiss her arrived. It felt like both of their normal states, the way things had been meant to be from the very beginning of the universe, allowing her to melt into it. If she had been forced to be honest, Juliet could admit that she was aware of how, no matter what they might like to think, no matter how much she believed in their love, they could not bring the world to stop spinning, that the sun would still rise in the morning. But although she was in a church, in that moment, Juliet was content to lie for a little longer. After all, if Friar Lawrence was there, standing next to her nurse, the sound of her stifling a sob seeming oddly fitting for the moment, there could not be a sin in any of it.

So, for those few moments of bliss, Juliet was content to simply be, to stand there with her Romeo in the moonlight.


	2. Silver, Bronze, and Gold

Even before he turned around the corner and made his way into the marketplace, Romeo knew what would happen. He knew it with the same sense of certainty as a man who had been thrown overboard far out at sea might know that he was doomed. And yet, that did nothing to lessen the impact of stepping out of the shadows to see Mercutio, to see the friend who had always been there to help him after he had fallen from the tree which, more often than not, he had been the person to suggest Romeo should climb, standing there, with little more than a couple of metres separating him from Tybalt.

Did he not see? Did Mercutio not see what Romeo saw, the way the anger shone in Tybalt’s eyes, as cold and determined as the steely blade of his dagger, how he moved in little, tense intervals, evidently torn between the urge to rush forward and plant his weapon in Mercutio’s chest and the warning from the prince? Did Mercutio not see any of that as he stood there, hurling insult after insult after the man who had become Romeo’s cousin mere hours ago, or did he simply not care, too preoccupied with the feud and the need to protect his friends to even acknowledge the danger around him?

It was that last thought that drove Romeo to act.

With the adrenaline already flowing through his veins, he sprinted towards his friend, not caring for the scattered murmurs of surprise that met him as he made his way towards Mercutio, pushing aside a few of the Capulet servants. Later, Romeo would perhaps have figured that he should have been grateful for the surprise, considering how it was most likely the only thing that kept them from seizing him, from acting on the insult it could have been meant as and take up arms, but in those seconds that felt like they lasted for so much longer, all Romeo could see was how Benvolio’s attempts at keeping back Mercutio would not be enough, Mercutio seemingly coming to the same conclusion as he simply shoved Benvolio aside to stride towards Tybalt. He smiled, and no matter how much Romeo searched for it, desperate to find the hope it would bring him, he could not see any fear in his eyes.

The sight of Mercutio reaching for his dagger as the steps suddenly became faster, deadly, Tybalt mirroring his motions with hate in his eyes, almost seemed to give him wings, Romeo somehow finding the strength to throw himself towards them, holding onto their arms and narrowly avoiding being killed by their blades as he threw them away from each other.

“Stop!” his voice sounded oddly calm against the horror in his chest, the sense that nothing he could say or do would ever be enough. Still, either as a result of the fear or the simple fact that Romeo knew he would not be able to stand still no matter how Benvolio looked over at him, his eyes widening as he screamed at him to leave, he continued, moving to block the path for Mercutio as he got back up to once more sprint towards Tybalt. “End this now! The prince—you know that you are not allowed to fight in the streets of Verona!”

But it did not matter, and the next thing Romeo knew, he was being thrown to the ground, ripped away from Mercutio by Tybalt. His heart skipped a beat as he landed on the cobblestones, feeling how the hard surface rose up to meet him, and left Romeo with the view of Tybalt snarling down at him, the blade glinting in the sunlight that appeared much too bright for the scene in front of him.

“Do not think that I will hesitate to act! Juliet, she—”

Romeo never got the chance to hear what Tybalt had wanted to tell him about Juliet, for the next second, Mercutio, seemingly appearing out of nowhere, had thrown Tybalt away from him, using his momentum to spin around and pull Romeo to his feet. His shoulders groaned at the sudden pull, but in that moment, the pain was nothing but a vague sense of something being wrong, unable to drown out the fear as Mercutio threw am arm around his shoulders and halfway dragged him, halfway lifted him back over to where Benvolio was already reaching out for him.

“Do not come between us, Romeo!” even in the middle of the screams and yells of the marketplace, Romeo could still hear Mercutio as loudly as if they had been alone in the forest. “You know that he hates us. There is nothing we can do about any of this; it was inevitable that it would end like this!”

And perhaps it was. Perhaps Mercutio was right to think that they were little more than passengers on a ship headed towards certain doom. At least, Romeo could not help but feel as powerless as a man seeing the water level rise in his cabin as Mercutio threw him towards Benvolio who instantly wrapped his arms around Romeo, keeping him from moving.

Already before he saw Mercutio turn around, Romeo knew what would happen, but that did not keep him from struggling against Benvolio as he watched how Mercutio spun around and ran back towards the spot where Tybalt was being helped to his feet by one of the Capulet servants.

“Mercutio, stop!” his voice broke, the sound coming out as a strangled plea. Trying to jab his elbow into the Benvolio’s stomach to get him to let go, Romeo continued to struggle. “Benvolio, let go of me, we have to stop him!”

That only made Benvolio strengthen his hold, though Romeo knew that he did not imagine the tearful voice or the words he had to begin multiple times before he was able to force out a full sentence. “There is nothing we can do now, Romeo, nothing, other than making sure that we will not also become a part of this fight. Remember the prince’s words. We cannot afford to be involved in this!”

He was right, of course he was. Romeo was not so naïve that he thought that they would be able to explain this to the prince. In truth, everyone who was seen with their daggers still in their hands by the time the prince would finally appear was already doomed. And yet, he continued to fight, continued to take small steps forwards, dragging Benvolio along with him, because no matter what, he could not refrain from being involved in the fight, not when Mercutio was already part of it. No matter what else, they were friends, and as such, if Mercutio fought, then Romeo fought as well.

That was the thought that went through his brain as he finally succeeded in making Benvolio lose his grip on him, the surprise and momentum he had built up making him stumble forwards, finding himself standing directly between the two combatants.

A glint of something grey flashed, and the world came to a sudden stop around him as Romeo recognised the all too familiar appearance of a dagger raised to kill. There was barely time for him to look up and meet Tybalt’s gaze, to see the surprise spread across his face, reflected in the steely grey of his eyes, as he continued forwards, bound to his path like the planets were bound to their orbit.

This was how it was going to end for him. Romeo knew that much. He was going to die here, killed by his own cousin. In that last second, he almost thought that he might be at peace, filled with the narcissistic hope that his death might finally be enough to end the feud. If Friar Lawrence would find the courage to support her and confirm the truth, maybe Juliet would be able to end it all by revealing their love to the world. Perhaps there was a meaning to it all.

The dagger dug a curve downwards, coming to meet his chest, Romeo not even having the time to duck, to try to shield himself, to do anything other than look into Tybalt’s eyes and hoping that he understood that he did not blame him. No matter what, he would not place the blame for the feud upon the shoulders of a single person.

A sharp push, and Romeo was thrown to the side, the world spinning around him as he hit the ground, a sharp pain shooting through his shoulder as he continued to roll over, once, twice, before lying still.

He lay there, awaiting the pain and the hollow feeling of death. It never came. No matter how much Romeo tried to search for the burning pain of the wound he should have received, he could not find it. The realisation that he would live should have been a relief, but as Romeo lifted his head from the cold, grey stones beneath him, already knowing what had happened, who had been the one to save him, he only felt how the world around him lost its colours until it became as cold and unforgiving as the stones.

Mercutio.

As he stood there, looking up at Tybalt, still with that teasing smirk, a hand on Tybalt’s shoulder, Romeo could almost have fooled himself into thinking that the world was still whole, that he still had time to get up and tear them away from one another, to run to the prince and beg him to help them end the feud. For a moment, all was well. Then, Mercutio moved his arm from Tybalt’s shoulder, and the world came crashing down around him.

The dagger sat there, buried in his chest, as Mercutio slowly, with the same graceful way of moving that had always seemed to captivate the people around him at various balls, turned towards Romeo. Not a word came out as he opened his mouth, and as Romeo looked at the wound and saw the way the dagger had been pushed in so deep that nothing but the hilt was visible, he knew with the same kind of certainty that had pulled him towards Juliet that this was the end of everything.

Every last fibre of his body ached, protesting against the strain he put it under, but Romeo did not care. All that mattered as he pushed himself up from the ground was the way Mercutio stumbled, the red rose that bloomed on his chest, and the ashen look on his face.

He barely caught him as he fell, wrapping an arm around his waist and stopping his descent towards the ground in time. From someplace far away, Romeo could hear the choked sob from Benvolio and how someone—Tybalt? It could not be Tybalt—screamed an apology, their voice hoarse and broken, Romeo unable to guess the intended receiver of it. Right then, his entire world might as well have disappeared to instead be replaced with Mercutio’s uneven breathing and the way his smile was a shadow of his former self as he pushed him away. There was no energy in the gesture, and perhaps that was what truly frightened Romeo, made him instinctively let go of his best friend, the fact that he could already feel it happen.

Mercutio knew as well, Romeo could tell that much as he watched Mercutio stand up, forcing a cheery tone into his voice as he bowed, acting like the fight had been nothing but a play, that it had not left him with a dagger sticking out of his chest. “What are you looking at?” Mercutio yelled, pirouetting on the spot and throwing the question towards anyone who might have heard him. “Did you truly think that I would give up so easily? No, this,” Mercutio pointed towards himself, towards the white shirt that was now a painting of reds and greys, throwing his head back in a loud laugh, “this is simply a scratch, not something I will allow to come between myself and victory. Tybalt! Come and face me!” Mercutio turned, pointing towards Tybalt with a shaky hand.

Tybalt remained still, nothing but the way his eyes flickered between Mercutio’s face, the hope dying the moment he looked back down at the dagger, betraying his feelings.

“Mercutio.” Romeo could hear the pathetic plea in his voice as he ran to his friends side, the way the childish hope that if only Mercutio would lie still, then it might not be too late, had yet to leave him completely. “Mercutio, I beg you—”

“You? Beg me?” Mercutio whirled around to face him, a harsh glint in his eyes that Romeo could not recall having ever seen before making him take a step backwards. “Spare me. The last thing I remember you begging me to do was to refrain from fighting, and look at what came of that. I got stabbed beneath your arm.”

“I—” the words failed him as Romeo reached out for his friend, his best friend, only for Mercutio to move aside, “I never meant for this—forgive me.”

“Forgive you?” a second passed, Mercutio almost looking like he considered taking his hand, but then his face grew hard again as he instead placed his hand over Romeo’s heart. “Apologies belong to children, Romeo, you know that. Be the man that Juliet loves. That suits you far better.” pushing Romeo away, he turned from him once more and took another step forwards, away from both Romeo and Benvolio.

“Mercutio, I beg you, let me help you, let me try to—”

“No!” Mercutio turned, fire burning in his eyes, and although it should not have scared him, Romeo obeyed, taking a step back. In those few seconds, as Mercutio looked at him, his eyes seemed even colder than Tybalt’s, his voice sharper than the knife. “No, you cannot try to help me! My… Romeo, you really are as much of a dreamer as I had feared you would be. Look around you!” he threw out his arms, but whether he meant to gesture towards the growing crowd around them or something else entirely, Romeo could not tell. “What do you think you can do? Which part of all of this is something that you think you could ever hope to heal with your words of love and your great heart? Tell me, Romeo, for a moment try to focus on nothing but the task of trying to tell me that everything will be fine.”

“I—” but the words caught in his throat, and no matter how hard he tried, Romeo could not find the strength to force them out, leaving the assurances that he would not allow Mercutio to die here, in the dusty marketplace with the people crowding around him, unsaid.

Mercutio could see what he had been about to say, Romeo could tell that much. But although he saw how Mercutio nodded, only once, the movement small and concise, the pain in his eyes was not something he could ever have missed, not as Mercutio relaxed, his features growing softer. “That was what I thought,” Mercutio whispered, the words appearing to be meant more for himself than for Romeo, or, really, anyone around them, “and here I thought that perhaps…”

He never got to finish the sentence, tripping over an obstacle that Romeo could not see, and for the thousandth time in less than a minute, Romeo felt the world come to an end around him as he ran forwards, ignoring the request of his friend to instead spare him from having to fall to the ground.

Catching him at the last moment, Romeo attempted to ignore the horror that grew alongside the bloody rose on Mercutio’s chest. It would be fine. He might not have had the courage to tell him that, but he had to maintain the hope as Mercutio’s head lolled to the side, a groan escaping him as he opened his eyes again and looked up at him.

“Romeo,” Mercutio rasped, all strength and anger gone from his voice, “you are still here?”

What Romeo would not have given for Mercutio to continue to yell at him, to prove that he had not accepted what Romeo still refused to believe, Romeo could not tell. But Mercutio was there, still warm as Romeo wrapped an arm around his chest to support him, careful not to touch, not to look at the wound and the dagger, so he somehow found a smile from happier days and focused on Mercutio’s face and nothing else. “Of course I am. I promised you that I would be, did I not? To remain at your side for forever.”

That was the oath he had sworn during that warm summer’s day all those years ago, Mercutio having barely had time to run in between Romeo and the Capulet who had towered up above him. As he sat there, Romeo was sure that Mercutio thought of it as well, recalled the way Romeo had raised his arms to cover his face, certain that the blow would land, only for his friend to appear out of nowhere and fight with such a vicious strength that it had been enough to make the attacker flee. He should have known. Back then, Romeo should have known better than to look at Mercutio and return his smile; he should have listened to the voice that warned him of how this would only grow, that Mercutio was always going to be there to save him. But he had not done that, having instead buried that fear. Look at where that had got him, sitting on the ground with his friend in his arms, desperately trying to assure himself that this was something love could repair.

“You did tell me that you would follow me anywhere.” Mercutio’s voice was little more than a whisper, his breathing sounding increasingly strained with every breath. Even if he had not been clutching him so tightly that it felt almost like he should be able to give him his life and let Mercutio survive this, Romeo would still have been able to tell how his chest was barely moving as he let the next words come out, the sound more like a sigh than anything else. “But, Romeo, I want you to promise me that no matter where I will have to go now, you will not try to follow me.”

Once, Mercutio had looked at the coat of arms that hung above the entrance to the Montague house, turned to Romeo, and declared that since his eyes almost matched the shade, he might actually have been meant to meet Romeo from the very beginning. As Romeo looked down at him now, Mercutio’s eyes were dull, looking almost like the colour had been drained from them along with his life.

“Mercutio, I—you know that I cannot—”

Although Mercutio did not gasp in pain, did not wince and fall back, Romeo still saw the way his jaw clenched as he reached up, grapping a fistful of fabric from his shirt, holding onto it so desperately that Romeo might almost have believed that Mercutio was clinging onto his own life. “Then you will have to learn how to in a hurry, because I refuse to leave you until you have said the words. Now, do go on, Romeo, tell me that you will let me make this discovery on my own.”

Despite everything that was happening around him—or perhaps the madness of it all was really to blame, making everything in his mind come to a halt to instead shift towards Mercutio—Romeo could not keep back the low chuckle. “I thought you said that you would never leave without me.”

“Ah.” something passed in Mercutio’s eyes, a gleam that Romeo did not know how to understand. “I did promise you that, but, Romeo, I believe that you will find that these circumstances are grave enough for me to have to break that promise. A promise broken, means that another one will have to be made. Please, Romeo, please. Say it. Promise me that you will not follow me.”

It was happening. They were all tumbling headfirst along, towards the abyss, and as Mercutio lost his grip on his shirt, Romeo felt how the ground beneath him shook.

“I—I promise.”

Instantly, Mercutio relaxed, becoming heavier in Romeo’s arms. As the corners of his lips curled up into a small smile, the gesture completely devoid of the sarcastic undertone or the insult that only waited to be heard, anything of what made Mercutio Mercutio, Romeo did not know whether his flickering gaze was an omen of the end that was to come, or if he had perhaps been blind for even longer than he had thought.

He never got the chance to know, for the next second, Mercutio tensed, Romeo instinctively knowing what he was trying to do, supporting his friend as he leant towards him.

“I…” Mercutio’s hand was still warm against his arm, and Romeo tried to cling onto that as Mercutio’s eyes became clouded, as he fell back again, nothing but Romeo’s presence stopping him from hitting the ground, “Romeo, love Juliet. Love her and do not meet the same fate as me.”

It was strange, the way Romeo knew when it had happened, when it was far too late to hope for a miracle to arrive. He should sit there, hug his friend tighter and weep. That was what would be right, and somewhere, distantly, Romeo could hear how Benvolio crawled toward him to sit next to Mercutio, clutching his hand as he cried. But what would it help to cry over a corpse? Nothing he could say and do now would be enough to bring back his friend.

Mercutio had told him not to follow him, and as Romeo looked down at the weapon that still sat in Mercutio’s chest, he knew that he would obey that last request. He would not come with him, but he would make sure that Mercutio would not be left alone. Someone would have to pay for this, someone had killed his friend, and as Romeo freed himself of his friend’s last embrace, gently letting Benvolio carry his weight, he could feel how gravity changed, dragging him towards the dagger.

He did not stop to listen, did not hesitate to think about what he was doing. All he knew was that one second the dagger was still resting within Mercutio’s chest, content to have taken only one life, and the next it was free once more, feeling the air against its blade as Romeo flew through the air, towards his target.

Tybalt did not move and deep inside, some part of him had to be screaming for him to stop, to look up at the man and see his tearstained face and understand that he was not his true enemy, that no man was to blame for the pain, or at least that was what Romeo had to believe. He had to cling to the hope that this had not been destined to happen, that he and Juliet had been meant for more than this. But he moved, acting against his will, and before he was able to stop, red had become redder, warm blood spilling over his hand.

Someone screamed, calling for Romeo’s cousin. That was when he finally awoke, opening his eyes to see Tybalt standing in front of him, swaying slightly as Romeo reached out to touch his shoulder.

His lips twitched, and although he knew that it was little more than his wishes for a better future coming to the surface, Romeo almost thought he could hear Tybalt whisper an apology as he too fell towards the ground.

Someone grabbed his hand, Romeo almost waiting for the moment when he too would perish as he was pulled backwards, away from Tybalt. It was not until he, rather than the cold pain of a knife, felt a pair of arms wrap around him that Romeo realised how it had been Benvolio who had come to pull him away from the risk of retaliation, that someone would decide that yet another murderer would have to pay with his life.

“Romeo…” Benvolio reached out to push a strand of hair out of his face, “Romeo, what have you done?”

There was no need to ask the question. As he looked at the marketplace in front of him, followed the grey lines of the stones, Romeo knew exactly what had happened. He had killed someone. He had become part of a feud he had never wanted. They looked oddly symmetrical in those early hours as the sky above them was still deciding whether to be sunny or the bleak colour of a rainfall, lying there on the stones. And then someone ran from the crowd, a lady in red crossing the stones to throw herself at the Tybalt’s side, clutching his hand.

Even if it had not been for the way he could see Juliet’s fiery hair run over her shoulders, escaping the hold of the elaborate hairstyle, Romeo would still have recognised Lady Capulet as she turned towards him, the hate growing stronger in her eyes.

“You…” she whispered, strengthening her grip on Tybalt’s hand, “you…”

Maybe Benvolio had thought that Romeo could not possibly care so little about his own safety that he would even make the attempt, but as Romeo began to run, Benvolio instinctively let go of him.

He reached Juliet’s mother within seconds, feeling how the hard stones tore the fabric of his trousers apart, a sharp sense of pain touching his knees as he bowed down to hold onto a snip of her dress.

“I—” Romeo began, but then he paused. What could he possibly say? What could he say that he had not already attempted back before, back when he had still been able to catch a glimpse of a future for them? Perhaps the answer was that there was nothing for him to say, that, despite the poems and the letters Mercutio had always liked to ridicule him for, teasing him for his romantic heart, Romeo was meant to find himself at a loss for words in those moments where it truly mattered. Still, even then, he had murdered her nephew, he had to say something, even if he could hear the childishness in his voice as he continued, “I never meant for this to happen, Tybalt—he was supposed to be here with us now. Forgive me.”

She tore her dress out of his grip, leaving him with only the dusty stones beneath him to look at, and in that moment, Romeo could not blame her. The world had lost its colours; it was only right of her to deny him the chance to see even a glimpse of red in his life again.

+++

For as long as she could remember, Juliet had never seen Tybalt take off the bronze signet ring. But even as she tried to remind her family of that, tried to argue that, surely, they would be able to let him take it into the grave, no one listened to her. Later, after she once more became able to look them in the eyes again within feeling the anger of knowing that they had taken the thing that meant the most to Tybalt, his family, away from him flow through her, Juliet noticed how one of the servants, a woman who could not have been more than a few years older than herself, now wore the ring on her ring finger, her red eyes becoming shiny as she caught Juliet looking at it. Her stomach felt like she had just fallen from the tree in the garden once again, and so, Juliet averted her eyes and tried not to look at her again, fought to make herself not think about how not even her mother tried to tear the woman away from her cousin as she went to kiss his forehead. If Tybalt had decided to keep secrets from her, she would not attempt to find out, not now when he was no longer there to explain to her what everything meant, why he had acted the way he had, and especially not when Juliet would never be able to look towards him and know that, even if she did not understand the world, she did at least have someone who would keep it away from her until the moment she asked him to stop.

However, as much as she tried to remember that she had seen him, that she had looked as her mother shook her head and told Juliet to go to her room, there were times where Juliet would turn from her wall, halfway expecting Tybalt to be there, standing there in the doorway, already sending her that smile that meant that he would be at her side the entire evening as he told her about how her father wanted her to attend the ball to meet a suitor, ready to run to her side to rid her of any unwelcome attention. But he was gone, the bronze ring now belonging to a woman whose name Juliet did not know, and yet, he was still present in her life, remaining just out of reach.

And, of course, Romeo. Romeo who had sat so still when the prince had appeared, the commotion making it impossible for her nurse not to stray from their usual path to go see what had happened, with a distant look in his eyes while the world around him descended into chaos, partially caused by the appearance of Juliet’s own mother. Even when she covered her ears, Juliet could still recall the way her mother had screamed, at Tybalt to wake up, at Juliet’s father to do something, to act, at the prince to assure her that her nephew would receive justice, at everyone and no one in particular. And through it all, Romeo had sat deathly still, only coming alive as Juliet thought she had finally gathered the courage to run to his side and beg him to swear that the blood on his hands did not belong to her cousin. But, as he ran from her, towards her mother, to throw himself at her feet, Juliet had already known that she would never get to hear him promise her that. In a way, she supposed she had known it right from the first moment she had first felt a strange sense of something horrible creeping towards her tuck at her heart.

And now she was here, looking at the people around her and the death that lived in the house. Outside her window, it seemed that the tree had wilted, deciding to share Tybalt’s fate as the trunk lost some of its vibrancy. Not even a full day after Tybalt’s death, and she could already see how life had left them all the same way Romeo had just sat there, staring at the dagger in his hand without truly seeing it, or, that was, at least he had not noticed it until the prince declared that he had no right to be in Verona anymore. At that, something had entered his gaze, and as he sat there, twisting the dagger, once, twice, and then a third time, a cruel mockery of the dance they had shared an eternity ago, Juliet could only hope that she would not also have to dig into the warm earth to gather flowers for him as well as Tybalt. In the end, the dagger had clattered to the ground as someone—perhaps Benvolio, if Juliet remembered Romeo’s description of his friends correctly—had run to his side and all but lifted him from the ground, dragging him away from the crowd. Where Romeo had gone after that, where he was now, Juliet could only guess. Her nurse insisted that she had overheard rumours about him having gone to Mantua. Juliet had forced herself not to believe it. As much sense as Mantua would make, if Romeo was there, she would not be able to continue on. No, she had to believe that he was near, only waiting for her to make her escape so that they could flee together.

For flee, she must. Pushing herself to her feet, Juliet sneaked towards the front door, careful not to let any of the servants see her. She could not risk that they would tell her parents, not now, not when there was still so much to lose. Fate owed her a great debt, that much, Juliet had known, but it appeared that it was finally time for her to collect it, for, by some miracle no doubt, she made it out of her prison, out into the streets.

How strange she must have looked, a girl running through the streets, her dress the same shade as it had always been, but with a cape hastily thrown over her shoulders as if the earthy tones would be able to hide her as she made her way towards her destination. But she was not stopped. No one turned towards her, muttering to the person next to them, a whispered question of whether that was truly the Capulet girl who had just sprinted past them, and, in that moment, that was enough for Juliet. No, not enough, that was wrong. Nothing would be enough until she had found a way to reach Romeo, but the moments alone was what she needed as she made her way towards the edge of town.

It was only as she stepped into the meadows that she dared to push the hood away from her face. Around her, a wind swept over the flowers, acting almost like it wanted to console her, try to take away the pain of the morning. Juliet ignored it, instead focusing on her reasons for being there, all too aware of how she would only have a moment before someone was bound to realise that she was no longer in her room, that her excuse about wanting to be left alone for a moment had not meant that she intended to stay there.

The stems of the flowers were small, but as she picked the first flower—a poppy, soft and beautiful—Juliet felt how it was still enough to hold a few drops of water, tainting the tips of her fingers. Sitting down in the grass, her gown and cape would no doubt become stained, but right then, it did not matter. All Juliet could think of was how it was not right for these flowers to remain there, to continue to be soft and beautiful, when her cousin was lying in the Capulet tomb, cold and unresponsive, when Romeo was gone, when someone who might once have become her friend had been taken by the prince’s servants to be buried. As she sat there, trying her best not to cry, fighting to maintain what little power she could still cling to, Juliet did not want to leave the flowers there to remain trophies that would inevitably wilt away, and so, she continued to pick the flowers until long after she should have got back up. It was only as the sun began its descent that she finally stood up again.

Making her way through the city this time proved to be more complicated than she had at first anticipated, with how she had found herself with no choice but to take off the cape to use it to carry the flowers.

“Who are you?”

The voice was light, and as Juliet tried her best to ignore the urge to simply run, instead turning around to face the person who had at last decided to ask the girl with a cape full of flowers about her identity, only to see that she was a child, tucking at her mother’s hand to make her slow down, she could have wept with joy, had it not been for how her tears had become dry long before that.

“I am someone who has to bring someone dear to me these,” Juliet whispered, leaning in towards the child to show her the flowers, hoping that the overly secretive edge to her voice would be enough to dissuade her mother from looking at her too closely, “I believe that they will find them beautiful, do you not agree?”

The child did not answer the question, instead simply looking up at her, the intelligence glimmering in her eyes. The seconds passed at an agonizingly slow pace, Juliet simply waiting for her to turn to her mother and ask why the cousin of a murder and a victim was not mourning the deceased and praying for his soul, but at last, the child sent her a knowing smile. “You love someone.”

It was not a question, and yet, Juliet felt that it would not be right to leave her without an answer. And, in a way, she supposed that she might be right. She had not known him, fate as well as her own cousin robbing her of the chance to ever change that, but from how he had grabbed Romeo and Benvolio, dragging all three of them away from Tybalt back at the ball, sparing Tybalt as well as them, Juliet was certain that she would have come to love him. Blinking at the child, Juliet nodded. “I do, and I am sure that they will love these flowers. All of them.”

It was not until she was back at the marketplace once more and saw how the stones were still slightly stained by the blood, no one, not even the prince with all his speeches and anger at the cost of the feud, having possessed the power to command the stones to lose the brown shade of dried blood, that Juliet realised how the poppies, red and shining, might not be what Mercutio, loyal, brave Mercutio who had been all too ready to die for his friend’s honour, would have wanted. But Tybalt would. Tybalt, the one who had helped her back up after she had fallen from the now wilting tree would have loved it, and who was she to deny him that?

Her family would have told her to wait, to spread the flowers over him as he was laid to rest in the family tomb, but simply knowing the way her mother would have shook her head at the idea was enough to make Juliet continue.

The flowers fell on the ground as Juliet let go of one side of the cape, the wind soon spreading them across the stones. But for a moment, they had lay there, forming the aftermath of the violence that had first met her gaze when she had stepped out from behind the protective barrier her nurse had formed. She could not stand it. She could not stand being reminded of all that had happened, she could not stand having to be reminded of how she was weeping for her cousin’s killer and the person who had, albeit unknowingly and indirectly, caused the prince to banish her Romeo. So she fled.

She made it back home, back to the house with the dead tree, the mother who would not meet her gaze, finding her eyes too similar to Tybalt’s that always seemed to sparkle when he laughed, back to the girl she had not known would get Tybalt’s ring after his death. More than anything, Juliet returned to a house where no one had noticed her disappearance, her mother a little too quick, a little too glad, a little too unbalanced as she accepted Juliet’s explanation of how she had spent the hours in her room, praying for Tybalt to receive justice, for Romeo to pay for what he had done. She should have been grateful for the fact that no one had noticed her disappearance, but as she returned to her room, Juliet only felt hollow.

+++

It was warm when he woke up, but unlike what Romeo would normally have expected, the warmth was about more than how the sun had entered the room, seemingly intent on letting its rays fall over Juliet’s cheek. No, rather than the sun, the warmth that bloomed in his chest as he opened his eyes belonged to the person lying next to him, the arm she had thrown around him in her sleep, the hair that had fanned out sometime during the night, strands having moved to cover his face the same way it had covered her shoulders in a time he could no longer fully recall the memory of.

Romeo did not know how long he lay there. All he knew was that he could have continued to do so for the rest of eternity if she had only allowed him to. But the moment for her to awake came before he wanted it to, Juliet stirring next to him.

Already before she had turned towards him, Romeo could see the smile on her lips, but as he watched it grow stronger, brighter than the rising sun, all he wanted to do was to remain there, to stay here in her embrace for how long it would be before they would be found. If that was how he would die, he would be content to die in that very moment.

However, Juliet soon shifted, moving out of his embrace to instead raise herself up onto her elbows. As she looked down at him, Romeo would have been a fool not to notice how she bit her lip, sending a short glance in the direction of the balcony from where they could both hear the familiar melody of birdsong.

“Romeo.” Juliet breathed his name, and in that, Romeo could already hear what would come next, how she would tell him that the world had come back, that reality would soon pull them back beneath the crashing waves. That was Juliet, always present, always looking at the danger and ensuring their survival. But how he would have liked to, for once, not have to think of any of that, not to have to envision Juliet with bloodstained curls and him dead in her arms.

So he said it for her, stealing the words out of her mouth. “The lark,” he muttered, already feeling the sun fade. It should have hurt less, but as Romeo listened to the disharmony outside the window and the song he had already come to hate, he could not help but wonder if he had perhaps been wrong, if it would perhaps have hurt less to leave Juliet with the task of reminding both of them of the fleeting nature of the moment, forcing him to add, “I should leave.” determined not to leave Juliet with the duty of confirming what they both knew to be true, he pushed himself further away from her, ignoring how the coldness settled into his heart once again.

He had only made it to the edge of the bed when Juliet reached out for him. Wrapping her fingers around his wrist, Juliet barely moved to stop him, but even that, the little gesture, was more than enough to bring Romeo to a halt, forgetting all about how he wanted to preserve this as his memory of her, the way the light bathed her in pure gold—or rather, how Juliet was the golden quality that was found in the light—and instead turning around to face her once more.

She was everything that was good in the world. That much was clear to Romeo as she looked up at him, her eyes flickering from his face to rest on his chest, feeling almost like she could see his heart, hear how it was beating a mad staccato, begging him to give in and remain there with her.

“It was the nightingale you heard,” Juliet whispered, her voice making it clear how she was praying for it to be true rather than believing her own words, “only the nightingale. I swear to you, Romeo, we still have time.”

Despite it all, despite how he knew he should move away from her, should turn towards the balcony to use what little time he still had to climb down and leave the city of Verona far behind once more, Romeo let her pull him back towards the bed, back towards her and her embrace, soft arms wrapping around him the moment he was close enough.

“You know that is not true,” Romeo whispered, unsure of whether Juliet was able to hear him as he buried his head in her hair, desperate to recall the golden shade that bled into all the red, “you know it is not, Juliet.”

“Pretend it is.” Juliet moved slightly, bringing her lips closer to his ear. “Pretend that we are safe.”

“You know we are not.” and that was what scared him the most. If this would end with his blood spilt on the sheets once her family found them, all would be fine, but Romeo only needed to imagine what his own father would have said, had he been able to see them, to know that although she would survive, Juliet would not escape the consequences.

But Juliet only tightened her hold on him in response, the stubborn tone in her voice holding something that was so unmistakably her that Romeo had to smile as she murmured a response. “Then forget about it for a moment. I do not care about my fate. As long as you will share these moments with me, I will only be happy to let them be my last.”

“But I will not. I will not let you die now, not as long as there is anything left of me in this world.” he had to look at her, he had to see and know that she understood just how much he meant it, and so, although Juliet tried to remain where she was, Romeo leant back, away from her. Even though the distance was only enough for him to be able to look at her eyes, it still left him with the empty feeling, the sensation of how his soul cried out for her, begging her to come closer to him again, as he continued. “Juliet, think of all we will do. We will travel the world together; there are so many things I have only ever heard about, so many great beauties in the world, but I know that they will be nothing compared to the joy in your eyes when you will see them. I want you to see my family’s home in Mantua, I want to leave this feud and this damned city behind. But more than anything, I want to be happy with you and for you to be happy with me. We can do none of that if your family finds me now, so I am begging you, Juliet, if not for yourself, then for my own selfish wishes, to let go of me.”

For the longest time, Juliet remained silent, simply looking at him, a look in her eyes that Romeo did not know what to make of. However, just as he had begun to question whether he would have the strength to push her away, to get up and leave while knowing full well that she would rather have him stay, Juliet let out a long sigh. “Will you promise me that you will wait for me?”

He barely held back the relieved laugh, bringing her even closer, telling himself that it was to ensure that no one would be able to overhear their conversation, but knowing full well that, really, it was just be able to revel in the moment for a second longer. “I will be there for you for the rest of my life. Simply call for me, and my spirit will fly to be at your side.”

“Do you swear that you will hear me no matter the distance between us?”

“I swear on everything that we have that I will.”

Finally, the smile returned to Juliet’s face, casting its golden glow over every part of his life as she nodded. “I understand. You will have to leave for a moment, but you will return to me again.” she hesitated, but Romeo only needed to look at the tears that lined her eyes to know that she was not waiting for him to respond, merely giving herself a moment to collect herself, to convince herself that they had time. “You will be back.”

Reaching out to, for what felt like it might be the last time, follow the gentle line of her cheek, Romeo smiled at her and tried his best not to let the way she melted into the touch steal what little courage he had left away from him. “I will come back for you, Juliet. Now and forever.”

“Now and forever.” reaching out to take his hand, Juliet repeated his words, sent a glance in the direction of the balcony, and looked back up at him, the determination shining in her eyes. “If that is true, I fear that I might have heard the lark after all.”

He could not answer her. Had he attempted, Romeo was certain that he would only have been able to get out a single word before his courage would have failed him and he would have begged her to let him stay, to forget about the world and let him die in her arms instead. But he remained quiet, instead pressing a kiss to her cheek as he drew away, noting how she let go of him, her hand trailing a path along his arm as he moved to swing his legs over the edge of the bed.

The floor was cold beneath his feet, but so was the world around him. Like a sun, Juliet had entered his life, bringing warmth, light, and life with her, but like the sun setting, she would have to leave him again to allow the cruel moon over Mantua to remind him of the true rays of the sun. Crossing the room, Romeo only paused for a moment to collect his cape, throwing it around his shoulders in the same moment as the sound of footsteps reached him.

Sending Juliet a look, he knew that they were both thinking the same thing, how he had been right to try to leave, but in that moment, all he felt at the discovery that he had been right was the horrid pain of having to leave both Juliet and Verona behind again.

By the doorframe, it became too much for him. It was almost like someone else moved for him, like a force outside his control was the reason for how he turned, reaching out to steady himself against the doorframe, not trusting himself not to fall back towards her as he looked at how lost Juliet looked, lying there in her bed, hair covering the sheets around her face as she continued to look towards him rather than attempting to make it seem like she had only woken up just then, kept on gazing at him rather than trying to save herself from the consequences that would follow if her family was to find out the reason for the open doors leading out onto the balcony.

Romeo would have liked to pretend that that was what he thought of as he moved, took a step back, towards her, but even then, he knew what the truth was, that he was selfish, wanting to leave her with the thoughts rather than bringing them back to Mantua where he would be completely alone once again.

“I love you. More than anything, I love you, Juliet.”

He did not wait for her response. As much as it would have hurt to know for a fact that she did not repeat the words, at least he would have been able to handle it; if she had told him the same, Romeo knew that there was no power in the world that would have made him leave.

So he turned from her and left without another word, without allowing himself as much as a backwards glance.


	3. White and Black

It fell apart quicker than she could ever have imagined, and yet, as Juliet returned to her chamber, she could barely recall happier times. All that remained was the horrible gown that had been placed on her bed—no doubt by one of her cousins who thought that she was doing her a favour—brilliant in the fading light, a beauty that her father had no doubt wasted more money than she could ever begin to imagine on. For he had wasted every single coin he had given to the seamstresses, Juliet would make sure of that. Closing her hand around the little bottle, she felt how her heart beat a wild rhythm against her ribs, and for once, there was no orchestra around her to accompany it. She was alone. All alone.

The liquid inside the vial was cold—it had to be—and yet, Juliet felt how the glass burnt in her hand, the feeling growing until it should have become unbearable, should have made her drop the little bottle. But no matter how frightening the future that awaited her at the bottom of the vial was, it would be better than remaining here and waiting for her father to return to her to once more make clear how there was no escape left for her anymore. Raising the bottle up to the level of her eye, Juliet could almost have fooled herself into thinking that it was only water had it not been for the slightly white tinge to it, the way she was only able to see her hand as a blurry silhouette through it. A deadly drink, or at least that was the appearance she had been promised, to slip into a sleep so deep that she might as well be dead when anyone would go to wake her in the morning. And was that not what she wanted, to escape from being awoken and taken to the church?

Juliet wanted to swear that it was the case, that she would stay brave and empty the vial in one gulp. But even then, her body was growing heavier, her head dizzier and dizzier.

She dropped to her bed in a graceless bundle of limbs, barely able to keep herself from touching the horrible dress that still lay over the end of the bed, vial pressed against her heart. This was not what she had wished for. In her dreams, Romeo would appear, bringing a plan with him to make their escape, but the ache in her chest was enough to remind her of the fact that she was still very much awake, left with only the plan Friar Lawrence had been able to form in the few seconds after she had pressed the tip of the dagger to her chest, writing a letter to Romeo, detailing the plan and instructions for him to come and save her once she was laid to rest alongside her family. As much as she wanted to believe in him, wanted to be able to trust the only adult who had yet to betray her, Juliet was not nearly naïve enough to think that Friar Lawrence had been able to consider the exact details for long. No, everything about the plan seemed to be the work of a man trying to find the right string of words to keep her from applying more pressure to the dagger.

What if it would fail? What if she would never wake again, bound to lose herself in her deathlike sleep? Or, even worse, what if the potion he had given her would not work, leaving her with only another night between herself and a false marriage? But what choice did she have other than to pray that he was right and follow his advice?

Sitting there, looking towards her balcony, Juliet could only see the white of her weeding and the coldness and death that would precede her freedom. The wedding.

Casting a glance towards the gown, Juliet blinked, at once furious with herself for not being able to find the strength to open up the bottle, and wishing that someone would come to her aid. It still lay there, cold and foreboding. When she had been younger, Juliet had thought that she would go to her wedding wearing her family’s colours, but from the moment she had first been pushed into the room, it had been evident that her father had decided for something else entirely, a snowy white, perhaps a way to show that, although Tybalt had died, his cousin was still alive and unharmed. Juliet could not tell the true thoughts behind the decision. All she knew was that for it to have been left here with her, her father must have believed that she would have lost the very last bit of hope, unable to even fathom the idea of ruining the dress. In a way, she supposed that he was right; even if the dress was to disappear completely, it would only delay the wedding for a moment, and given how they had already taken every sharp object in her room, she was left with the only option being pouring the potion over the fabric and hoping that the stain would be noticeable enough, an unacceptable plan. No, her only way out would be the found within the vial, Juliet knew that, knew that with the same sense of certainty that had filled up the hollow space of her heart when she had first met Romeo.

Her hands shook, and for a single, horrible heartbeat, she thought that she might drop the bottle, already seeing how it would fall to the floor, shattering once it made contact with the wooden planks. But then she caught it. Juliet did not know if the sigh that escaped her was one of relief or disappointment. All she knew was how each motion and gesture as she pulled at the lid felt removed, distant from her body, almost like she was being moved by some outside force.

The stench hit her the moment the lid came off, climbing up into the air, before meeting her nose. Instantly, Juliet had to fight the urge to vomit then and there. It was unlike anything she had ever experienced before, worse than the smell of the chamber pot, worse than the streets of the poorer parts of Verona in the summer heat, worse than anything she could have ever imagined. And yet, she did not move the bottle away from her face, instead simply staring at the depths of its contents.

The white, watery substance moved slightly within the vial, seemingly intent on teasing her with its hypnotic movements, the way a bubble would occasionally rise to the surface, remaining there for a moment before bursting, and disappearing into the potion again. Would the feeling of losing herself to the deep sleep be anything like that, sudden and quick? She knew that it would not do her any good to dwell on the question of what would come, but that was all she could think of as she sat there. Would she be glad, would her sleep be filled with dreams, dreams of Romeo, dreams of lying under the sun in Mantua with Romeo at her side? Or would it instead be violent, her body fighting against the shadow of death before finally losing and slipping into the vast sea of white nothingness? As much as Juliet tried to convince herself that it did not matter, that there was no point in trying to tell what would come when she had no choice but to continue no matter the consequences, she felt how the time passed, precious seconds slipping out of her grasp to instead become minutes, an hour wasted. Already, the slight glow of the bottle in the otherwise dark room told her of how every moment could be the last where the opportunity of escape was still present, there for her to grasp, and Juliet simply allowed it to continue to be so. Perhaps she was already asleep. Perhaps she had not truly been awake since Romeo had left her. The more she thought about it, the more it sounded like it might be true. After all, as Juliet thought back, she could barely recall anything from her fight with her father, only the way he had made it clear that she would not be given a choice in the impending marriage. Who was she to say that she had not been asleep for far longer than she had thought, leaving a sleepwalker to take her place as she fought with her father and watched how first her mother turned from her and then her nurse?

It was almost like the universe had heard her, for Juliet had barely registered the warm feeling of rage as she thought back to how her mother had waited for a moment as her daughter had turned towards her, begging her to do something, hesitant, almost like she wished that she was able to provide her with any comforting words, when the sound of footsteps echoed through the hallway outside her room. But then time returned, and in an instant, the lid was back on the bottle, Juliet turning around on the spot, wasting seconds, before arriving at the conclusion that the best place to hide all evidence of what she was planning, the only place, was underneath her pillow.

She only barely managed to throw the pillow back down and smooth out any telling wrinkles before the door opened, her mother having let herself into her room. For that was who had finally decided to arrive, Juliet’s mother.

Though it was clear from the rosy hue on her cheeks that she had had at the very least made an attempt to look relatively put together, Juliet only needed to look towards her hands to see how, much like herself, her mother was seeing how the situation around them was heading in a direction neither of them would be able to follow. Until then, Juliet had never thought much about her mother’s age, only noted that she seemed to believe that it was time for her to begin thinking about motherhood as well, but now, as she stood there and watched her mother stop the moment she stepped over the threshold, Juliet could not help but wonder if her mother felt just as lost as she did, felt just as unprepared for the burden the universe had given them.

However, just as Juliet had been about to open her mouth, unsure of what exactly she would say, but knowing that she had to at least try, her mother took a step forwards, seemingly intent on breaking the invisible barrier as she gestured towards the wedding dress. “I see that one of the servants brought it to you just like I instructed them to do.” with an air around her that was no doubt meant to come across as graceful, but appearing rather desperate instead, like a drowning man clinging onto a piece of driftwood, her mother ran a hand down the front of her own dress, smoothing out imaginary wrinkles.

“You—” the word caught in her throat, Juliet having to push the rest of the sentence out to avoid it shrivelling up and dying inside her chest, “you were the one to have it brought to me?”

With a smile that looked almost like she was trying to convince herself as well as Juliet, her mother tilted her head to the side. “Why, of course I was the one to do that. I thought that… well, I assumed that you might want to be able to look at it before... before your wedding.” something passed, her mother inhaling, a flash of fear flickering over her face, before the mask of cold indifference had returned again, accompanied by the slightly distant expression in her eyes. “I have heard the greatest stories about Paris; I assure you that you will find happiness with him.”

“And if I do not?” Juliet had to fight to resist the urge to cover her mouth with her hand, almost not believing that she had heard herself say the words. But there was nothing she could do now to take them back, nothing to do but to look towards her mother, attempting to gauge her reaction from the way her eyes left her face to, for a fraction of a second, land on the gown. No matter how much she tried to make sense of the look on her mother’s face—the little tuck of a muscle near her mouth, the crease between her eyebrows, the way she took a deep breath—Juliet did not know what was to come. Letting her thoughts fly to the little vial hidden beneath her pillow, Juliet tried to find comfort in the thought that, no matter what, no matter what her mother might tell her, she would refuse to lose her last chance of happiness, would not allow anything or anyone to make her lose her conviction.

Finally, her mother did answer, but when she did, it was with an oddly detached tone in her voice, something Juliet had never heard before, not even when her mother had returned to a ball with a fresh glass of wine. “Then I pray that you will be given a son quickly. Then, your husband might lose interest in you and you will be free to live out the rest of your life with a certain degree of freedom.”

Juliet did not miss the way her mother reached out for the gown, her hand resting on top of the intricate needlework that decorated the sleeves. In the shadows of the room, her mother’s pale hand looked almost like the fabric beneath, pale and dead. How long had it been since Lady Capulet had truly lived? As Juliet thought back, tried to recall even the faintest memory of her mother having looked like she truly meant it when she smiled and laughed, she found herself without any answer, instead simply staring at her mother as she ran her hand over the gown, coming to rest at the pearls and threads that decorated the fabric.

Almost like she was brought back to the same world as Juliet in an instant, her mother stiffened visibly, drawing her brows together during the moment it took her to put on the smile again and turn to face her daughter. “Yes, give him a son and an heir, and I assure you that all will be fine.”

Perhaps her mother muttered the last word to herself, repeating at a couple of times. Juliet was not certain. All she knew was that she could see her mother’s mouth move, but even as she tried to make out what she was saying, all she could hear was her own name caught within a storm of words and whispered sounds. It was a reality that was not entirely strange to her, but even then, even though she should have known better than to hope for help, for someone to arrive to tell her what to do and to attempt to save her, Juliet still found herself taking a step towards her mother, away from the balcony.

“Mother…” she could hear how small, how broken, her voice sounded in the otherwise silent room, but in that moment, Juliet could not find the strength to change it, nor was she sure she would have tried if she had. All those years where her mother had passed in and out of her life, sometimes meeting her daughter for a fleeting moment before she would turn from her again, and here they were, standing over her wedding gown and trying to pretend that Juliet was not feeling the hope fade away in front of her, “I need your help. Please, I—I will beg you to not force me to marry Paris if that is what you want, everything, if it will free me from this.” moving instinctively, she reached out, suddenly desperate to hold onto her mother, to cling to her and wait for her help. She barely caught a glimpse of her mother’s eyes, saw how the surprise twirled into the despair, but Juliet did not allow that to stop her, instead holding onto the sleeve of her dress for dear life.

“Juliet…” she heard the answer from someplace up high above her, felt how her mother reached out towards her, her hand almost coming to rest on top of her hair, but, at the last moment, her mother withdrew her hand. Juliet did not need to look up at her to know how her mother had pushed her shoulders back, raising her chin a little. No, her voice made certain that there was no doubt about how she was standing, as she continued, “Paris will be a good husband for you. Do not be ungrateful for how your father was able to secure your future for you.”

Her future. Juliet could have let out a loud laugh, had it not been for how the tears were making her eyes sting. Here they were, her future being ripped away from her as the wedding moved closer and closer, the dress appearing more and more like it was meant to strangle her to death, and her mother was talking about securing her future. Only the thought of how, even if everything failed, even if Friar Lawrence had been wrong about the true extent of the effects of the potion, her future would, in a way, be secured, kept Juliet from losing herself to the despair completely, able to stay still as her mother pulled her hand towards her, making Juliet lose her grip on her sleeve.

“Paris, he… yes, he will be everything you can hope for. Someday, you might understand that. I just hope that that day will arrive soon—it will be best for everyone if it does, trust me.”

As the last bit of fabric of her mother’s dress was pulled from her grasp, Juliet, no longer possessing the strength to stand, to do anything to combat the tears that pressed against her willpower, found herself holding onto the bedpost to her left to remain upright. The floor became blurred by her tears, her hair falling in front of her shoulders, obscuring even more of her vision, and still, she could see the dress lying there, taunting her with how the colour of it almost resembled the clouds above her. She did not know exactly when the change occurred, when she looked back and saw only darkness, but for a single moment of total clarity, Juliet knew that she would drink the potion without a moment’s hesitation even if she had been given it with the warning that it was poison.

“I will die before I marry Paris.” the words where whispered harshly, Juliet for a moment taken aback by the sheer amount of anger behind them as well. But then she looked up at her mother and seeing how she was frozen in place, simply staring down at her, her daughter, with a look in her eyes that clearly told Juliet that she did not know what to do, gave her the power to continue. “I will throw myself from this balcony before I put on that dress, I will jump into the river a thousand times before you will be able to drag me into the church, and I will marry Romeo Montague before you will ever be able to make me say yes to him!”

A twitch, running from one side of her mother’s mouth all the way down her arm, made it clear that she had struck something. But it was gone within the second, instead replaced by the same beautiful smile, the same elegant gait, and the graceful, little nod that Juliet had come to know through the few meetings she had had with her mother over the years as Lady Capulet looked down at her, the answer already waiting on her lips. “You might think that now, but I promise you that, soon, you will come to learn that none of that is true. I truly hope that you will allow yourself to see that one day. Goodnight.”

Lady Capulet turned around, her gown rustling as she made her way back to the door in only a couple of steps.

The sound of the door closing echoed through the room, but Juliet was barely able to comprehend everything that had just happened, having already turned around, digging around beneath her pillow. If she was to look at the bottle before it was time, to see the way the white liquid inside had a way of clinging to the side of the bottle almost as if it was trying to mock her for having turned to her mother in one last, desperate plea for help, Juliet was not certain that she would have been able to do what she had to. So she kept her eyes closed until the stench of the potion hit her nose. Even that seemed far more subdued now that the her very last hope had been forced to give way to the reality around her, and as she felt the coldness of the glass against her lips, tipping the vial to let the potion lead her to her fate, she was surprised to note the nearly total absence of fear.

Juliet opened her eyes to catch one last glimpse of the life she could never return to, but all she saw was the potion, white and deep. Even as it disappeared, bringing an almost sweet taste along with it as it ran down her throat, pooling into the pit of her stomach, she still only saw the world through it, felt how her vision grew cloudy within seconds, every last part of her body becoming heavier and heavier as she fell backwards, leaving her to place her full weight onto her left arm, pressing it deeper into the bed.

It only lasted for a minute. Then, even that grew too heavy. Juliet fell, already disappearing into her dreams before her head had hit the pillow, the added weight onto the bed making the frame shift. It would barely have been noticeable, but even that slight change was enough to let the gown fall to the floor, a crumpled heap of white landing on the ground.

+++

Placing one foot in front of the other, Romeo made his way into the Capulet tomb. One foot in front of the other, a strange dance, the steps of which he had followed ever since he had first found out.

Walking into the darkness with nothing but the candle in his hand to provide him with a bit of light, it felt almost like he was making his way into hell. Considering what he had done, what he would still have do, the count that lay dead back in the world that should have belonged to the living, Romeo would not be surprised if that was the case. But even then, that fate would be more merciful than having to continue to be there, to have to look up at the sun each day and know that she was gone, so he did not allow himself even a moment of doubt. The vial weighed heavily in his pocket, but even then, it was a comforting thought to know that once he had let the poison touch his lips, it would be over within seconds. In his hand, the dagger, Paris’ blood still dripping from the tip of it, staining the floor of the tomb that had become Juliet’s final resting place, spoke of another alternative.

They had said that she had taken poison, the seamstresses he had passed as he made his way into Verona, unable to even muster up the energy to care about whether or not someone would recognise him and inform the prince of his presence. Voices had whispered, providing information that had never been meant for him to overhear and yet given so freely that he could not have missed it, telling him of how her nurse had found her in the morning, cold, unresponsive, and with the emptied bottle still in her hand as her nurse tried to shake her, tried to force her to wake and come back again. And through it all, he had been in Mantua, waiting for the moment where she would be able to join him, when he would have thought of a plan to get her out of Verona and far away from the feud.

What a fool he was. No one escaped the feud. He had tried. In a way, Romeo was sure that Mercutio had tried in his own way as well. But Juliet had tried the hardest of them all, and look at where that had got her, dead and alone in her final moments.

His hands shook a little, the light flickering, coming dangerously close to dying as a wind pushed past him. That was when he saw her.

As she lay there on the stone slab, her hands folded over her chest with a bouquet of roses pushed underneath, Romeo could almost have believed that she was simply asleep, waiting for him to come and wake her up, having arrived to accompany her as they fled Verona together. Taking another tentative step towards her, however, that illusion was soon shattered, and as he saw the way her bright hair only made her face seem even paler, a deathly hue having defeated the usual rosy glow in her cheeks, Romeo knew that this was something that no amounts of tears and prayers would be able to change. The feeling of the bottle in his pocket had never felt as comforting nor as maddening as he halfway walked, halfway crawled those last few metres over to her, unable to take his eyes off her, while also finding it increasingly difficult to remain conscious, to not simply drift off and never see what was happening around him.

For once, Romeo wondered if he had perhaps been spared by having been banished from Verona before he ever got the chance to see Mercutio and say his final goodbyes. Despite the way he had hid his face from everyone in Mantua, unwilling to let them see how tears ran down his cheeks as he was caught in the horrible question of whether he would have been allowed one final goodbye had he only allowed Benvolio to hold him back, as he stood there, looking down at Juliet, he knew that it had been for the better.

Perhaps that, the feeling of, albeit involuntarily, having betrayed both his friend and his beloved with his thoughts, was why his knees buckled below him, sending him kneeling to the ground, the candle left forgotten on the ground next to him. How oddly fitting, to sit there, reaching out for Juliet’s hand as he rested his forehead against the cold stone slab, desperately clinging onto the hope that it was all just an evil dream sent to him, that, if he only hoped and loved enough, Juliet would wake up any moment. Only, she did not, and no matter how much love he might have yet to give in his life, the truth was that Verona’s hate would always far outweigh it. He was here, brought to the her tomb, the Capulet’s tomb where even the rumour of him having been there would surely only give the fire of the feud fresh fuel, by the love he had once been foolish enough to believe might save them in the end. A fool, a fool’s dream, and now, a fool’s end.

For that was what he hoped would finally be granted to him there, in the cold world Juliet had left behind. A quick end that would see him reunited with her before the sun would have the chance to rise again. Brushing his thumb across the back of her hand, Romeo forced himself to summon the strength to rise to his feet again and look down at her.

The gown she had been dressed in left little doubt about just why Paris had been there, why he had heard the merchant’s wife whisper about how the marriage had become a funeral in the early morning hours. How cruel of fate to truly let her carry the appearance of the sun as she lay there, the only bright spot in the otherwise silent and cold tomb, only fully shining as brightly as he had known she could do now that her eyes were closed. They must have thought that as well, her family, bringing her to the tomb, for her hair had been spread to cover the stone below her, fanning around her head, creating a brilliant halo that looked almost like the sun was rising behind her, bathing her in light. Even as Romeo placed the candle next to her face, careful not to let it come so close that it would be able to burn her—how it would ever have been able to burn her, Romeo did not know, only that he could not allow for there to be even the slightest risk—she made it look dim and unfocused.

He wanted to scream. He wanted to run, to force someone, anyone, the prince, the Montagues, the Capulets, the beggars in the streets, to listen and understand. But more than anything, Romeo wanted for it all to end, so he remained still.

Benvolio. Benvolio, kind Benvolio who had tried his best to restrain him, knowing how Romeo would doom himself if he fought. No doubt that he would be inconsolable once he found out what had happened was left in Romeo’s mind, but even then, he could only spare a passing thought for his friend. Benvolio would survive; he would find happiness, perhaps even have the strength to escape Verona before it could drown him in its hate and blood as well. In the end, the fact that, personal friendships notwithstanding, he would be better off without him and the direct tie to the feud was not lost on Romeo.

A cowardly way of freeing himself from having to face all those he knew would weep in the morning perhaps, but as Romeo pulled himself up onto the stone slab, careful not to disturb Juliet’s slumber, he could not find the energy or the strength to hesitate. How often had his father not told him that the feud would claim his life if he was not careful? Back then, back in a time where he had still been a little child, unable to look through the windows without standing on the very tips of his toes, he had thought that it meant that he should be careful not to, like Mercutio had done in the end, be caught in a fight with a Capulet. Would his father laugh or cry once he realised that his son had been killed not for the hate between him and the daughter of the Capulet family, but rather for the love that had bloomed when he had first met Juliet? As much as Romeo wanted to hope for the first to be the case, he could not deny that a little, desperate part of him hoped that perhaps the tears would be able to give them a new start, provide all of Verona with enough water to wash away the old blood. Yes, maybe it was for the best that he swung his legs up onto slab and turned towards Juliet.

They had buried her in her family’s colours. The realisation struck him in an instant, flowing through his entire body, carrying the dark depths of despair along with them. As white and bright as the gown might be, it did not change the fact that she was surrounded by the red halo of her hair, reminding him that not even in death would they ever be able to escape from their families.

Moving without a thought, only acting upon the sudden urge to change it, to give her the freedom he imagined she had chased to the bottom of the vial of poison, Romeo brushed her hair aside, limiting the surface of the stone it was able to cover. Already as he finished his task, arranging it in those gentle curls that had first met his gaze when she had pulled him from the relative safety of the dark corner in her family’s house to dance with him, she looked a little more like the Juliet who had leant out over the balustrade to grab onto his hand, her knuckles turning white as she refused to let go of him, refused to accept his attempts at assuring her that he would not fall. That had been what she had done for this entire time, had it not? The old widows who always seemed to be mysteriously present for every occasion in the city despite no one knowing their identity had once told him that only when standing before death, could a human know the truth. He had not believed them, having instead chosen to return to his poetry, desperate to receive a sign that they had been wrong in the pages and scribbling word after word onto the paper in a daze for days on end. But now, Romeo was ready to admit that they had been right. The only thing that mattered to him anymore was how Juliet was gone and the fact that he would try to follow her down that path.

Picking a rose from the bouquet in her hands, he slowly pulled it out of her grasp and placed it just above her left temple. With the gentle smile on her face, she looked almost like she had done that night on her balcony, like she had merely closed her eyes and would open them again in a moment, a chuckle waiting on her lips for him. Yes, if he just waited, she would open her eyes to look up at him and ask him if he was not risking too much by returning to her chambers for yet another time. When he looked around, Romeo could almost see it, see how the shadows in the corners twisted, becoming the walls of her room, the stone slab growing softer and lighter as he sunk into the pillows with Juliet. Juliet, whom he pulled into an embrace, conscious of himself in his attempt not to wake her, but simply finding a moment of rest in the way her head came to rest against his shoulder, Romeo not sensing the coldness against his skin as he lay there with her.

“Juliet.” his voice echoed through the room, sounding incredibly small in the darkness, but he did not mind, not if that was what it would take to not wake her and demand her to come back to a world that had led them towards the abyss. “Juliet, do you remember what I told you about Mantua? How I talked of the sky you would love to see to, if nothing else, imagine how it would feel to spread you wings and take to the sky, the lake that seemed to reflect your mind when you looked into it. Do you remember that? I promised to bring you there, did I not? Believe me when I say that I intend to keep that promise if you want me to, but, Juliet, through all those days I spent in Mantua, I have come to realise that no matter where we might be, as long as you are there, it will be the loveliest place on earth. No matter how horrible our surroundings might be, no matter how little we might have, as long as you are there with me, I know that I will be happy. Simply say the word, and I will do everything in my power to ensure your happiness as well. All I could ever ask of you is that you might remain patient enough to listen to me, and you have. Please, let me stay here with you for even just a moment longer.”

He paused for a moment, waiting for her answer. When she remained silent and still in his arms an almost empty feeling of despair shot through him, and right then, the only thing that could possibly have any meaning for him was what her answer would be. Caught between the ever-growing need for answers and the feeling of how he would risk shattering something fragile if he tried to wake her, Romeo sank deeper into the turmoil in his mind, feeling how the waves dragged him under, for a moment allowing his lungs to become filled with water before he was finally able to get his head above water again, gasping for air as he saw another wave approach him. A desperate glance around him revealed what he already knew deep down; there was no one there to help him, no one who would come to jump in after him and drag him to safety.

As his vision grew dark, the bed becoming as cold as Juliet’s unconscious form next to him, there was only one thought left among the despair, the need to listen to her voice one last time, to look into her eyes and apologise for how he had not been able to be there when she had needed him the most.

“Juliet!” even as his voice grew to a scream, Romeo could hear the hollowness that awaited him, barely masked by the pain. And maybe that—the fact that, despite everything else, he was still afraid of the empty space that had been left in his life—was why he watched himself gather Juliet in his arms, pulling her into an embrace as he hid his face against her neck, the hope that his tears would be enough to wake her up growing weaker and weaker with every passing second. “I beg you, wake up! Juliet, I cannot—please, you cannot—don’t leave me alone. Not here, not in this world!”

But she remained unresponsive to his pleas for her to answer, the same soft smile on her face, the rose falling from the locks of hair he had pushed it in between. Romeo knew that, even in the deserted tomb, it would not make a sound, and yet, as he looked to the side and watched the rose travel over the distance between the two of them and the floor, coming into contact with the large stone blocks that made up the floor of the Capulet tomb, the sound echoed through his mind, erasing every little thing that might have held him back in a previous life.

There was nothing left for him to do, no one he could say goodbye to, no one he could go to. Not even the prince would be able to change what needed to happen now. For all his talks of peace, of wanting to see the end of the feud in his lifetime, in the end, Romeo knew that the prince would not be able to protect them, to go against two of the most powerful families in Verona to protect two children. And now, even if he was to burst into the tomb in that very moment to offer him the chance to return to the city, Romeo knew that he would decline. The city around him held no meaning for him anymore. No, not only Verona. For all its faults, maybe the city had not been the only thing intent on destroying the lives of its inhabitants. Life itself had lost all meaning the moment he had first felt the pain of knowing that there were no lies in the voices of those who whispered about Juliet’s death.

The glass cap of the vial crashed against the floor, but Romeo did not care. It was not like he would need it again.

Laying the dagger next to him on the stone slab, he looked towards Juliet for one last time, careful to commit every little smile, every little colour that could be found on her face, in her hair, in her eyes that he could no longer see, to memory. If he could not die with her in his arms, feeling how life would leave them in the same heartbeat, he would at least make sure that he would die next to the Juliet he remembered rather than the daughter the Capulets had buried. Pushing the dagger a few centimetres more away from him, Romeo tried not to lose courage as he lifted the potion to his lips. It was better that way. No matter how much pain he might find before death, he would refuse to use the dagger. It was bad enough that Juliet had no chance of avoiding being buried with her red hair as an eternal reminder of the feud; he would not paint her in red as well by stabbing himself.

Making sure that she lay peacefully, the roses in her grasp being as perfect as they had been when he had first entered the tomb, Romeo reached out for her hand. Slowly, he lifted her right hand, leaving only the left to hold onto the bouquet. A coward, that was what he was, but even then, he knew himself well enough to know that, if he let go of her, if he let her be, he would never be able to muster up the courage to do what had to be done.

And, maybe, as he placed the vial against his lips and tried to rid his mind of any thoughts that were not of Juliet, he wanted to remain close to her in his last moments, wanted to be able to know that, as much as he did not deserve it after he had abandoned her when she had needed him the most, he would die close to her. Maybe it meant everything; maybe it meant nothing at all, only yet another sign of how his psyche was crumbling in her absence. No matter the answer, fact was that Romeo tilted the bottle, awaiting the pain that came with the single mouthful of poison.

It never came. Instead, Romeo felt himself give into the wonderful feeling of not experiencing anything at all, only noting how the thoughts became a blur of names, Juliet’s face whirling through his mind as something else pulled him closer to the edge of the abyss. Even then, even as he looked towards the figure that led him, halfway expecting to see a monster, but finding that she looked down, letting her hair hide her face, the possibility of turning around, of struggling against the process he himself had started, only appeared as a vague thought to him, clouded in the relief of knowing that it wold all be over in a moment. Why should he struggle against it, why should he attempt to fight, clinging onto the life that was little more than a way for him to know that he would continue to suffer?

No, as Romeo looked down into the darkness, he felt only the giddy excitement of knowing that, soon, he would no longer have to face the pain of continuing to the next moment with the knowledge of how his wife would not be able to accompany him onto that journey. She was already there, waiting for him. For, Juliet, he would do anything, and still, Romeo found himself turning to the figure, the question almost burning on his tongue.

“Will it hurt?”

She did not answer him, at least not giving him an answer to the question he had allowed to fill what little space there was left between them. He should not have expected that, should not have even dared to ask such a question and think that there was an answer to be found in the coldness of the tomb; Romeo knew that as she yelled his name and threw her arms around him.

Finding a moment of solace in the sight of Juliet’s face, warm and alive, above him, he let himself fly over the edge, consumed by the darkness.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And that was he end of the the fic - thank you so much to everyone who read it!

**Author's Note:**

> This is not the end of this fanfic, but I just wanted to thank you for readings this chapter. If you want to, you are more than welcome to find me on [Tumblr](https://like-a-handprint-on-my-heart.tumblr.com/)


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